


The Warden's Reckoning

by Extraordinaire



Series: The Path the Maker Sets Before Us [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen, Read at Own Risk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 14:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 270,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extraordinaire/pseuds/Extraordinaire
Summary: MOVED FROM PREVIOUS ACCOUNT.TOO MANY TRIGGERS. READ AT OWN RISK.It is time for the Grey Wardens to rebuild in Ferelden. With King Alistair needed on the throne, Queen Tesslyn must assume her role as Commander of the Grey until a replacement is trained. But after surviving the Blight with Alistair, parting is easier said than done. Talking darkspawn and a reminder of the man who murdered her family are just the start. In order to be the Queen her country and husband need, Tess must also be Warden-Commander - whether she likes it or not.





	1. The New Rule for Ferelden

**Author's Note:**

> Too many Trigger Warnings. READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Moved from a previous account. If it looks familiar, it's because it is. Original post date to old account 12/31/2017 Yes, AO3 staff already knows. They're the ones who suggested I move my stories.
> 
> If you don't like it, remember the choice to read is yours. You can choose not to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archemon lies dead, the Blight ended. The despair in the country did not stem from the Blight alone. Now that he is King, Alistair, alongside his wife Tesslyn the Hero of Ferelden, has the power to change fates, so more do not grow up as he did. While the royal couple waits to depart for their wedding tour, King Alistair sets a few things straight. He will force the change he wants for Ferelden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Gryphonheart, by Jo Blankenburg](https://youtu.be/aokAizBEdPw)

Too many fundamentals perished during the Blight. If not for the few citizens who exploited the period of stagnation while the new Queen _and Hero of Ferelden_ lay comatose, there would be nothing left to rebuild the country. But even that would take its time; winter saw to that.

Not a week went by since the royal wedding and already duty was in order. King Alistair and Queen Tesslyn had little time to rest: by custom, they would tour the country. Intended as a public appearance for those who did not attend the wedding, it also served as a time of learning. The King and Queen would assess the needs of their people.

Ferelden had its unique attractions, like any other country. And like other countries, it also had a dark side. Extreme poverty, slavery in disguise, and those with the power to help turned their heads for bribes. Alistair, whose childhood bled such darkness, would use the tour to survey his country. As much as he became King to protect and provide for his wife, Alistair strove to be a _good_ king. No one deserved to grow up abused or neglected; he vowed to make sure no did again. The state of his country would _also_ determine the safety and prosperity of his wife, after all. If raising his country from poverty _only_ to protect his wife made him selfish, so be it.

With palace servants busy around the castle preparing for the two-month royal tour in Fereldan snow, Alistair had time to set at least _one_ troubled thing right. While he and Tess took morning tea, Alistair summoned Shianni, an outspoken elven resident of the city. They’d met her prior the Landsmeet when they investigated Tevinter slavers in the Alienage, where all city elves lived. It was an expected place for non-Dalish elves to retain their ancient ancestry while allowing non-Dalish freedoms. A life meant to encourage open trade, freedom of religion, and multicultural interaction - including freedom to love outside the Dalish. It _became_ a never-ending struggle of sharing values. Broad human belief was elves were inferior and, as Alistair heard more than once, _meant to serve_ \- due their submissive genes when bred with humans. The result: an impoverished neighborhood left to crime and uncleanliness that Alistair’s predecessors did nothing to change because the general public insisted there were _bigger problems_ than elven welfare. The _notion_ of such an attitude appalled Alistair and Tess, let alone neglect. It was another likeness of Alistair’s childhood. Now as King, he had the means to change what could be changed.

If Alistair and Tess surprised Shianni by saving her people from slavers _and_ darkspawn, she stood dumbstruck now. The proposal: _Shianni would be Bann._ Never before had an Alienage leader been recognized and appointed; another prejudicial custom. City elves made their own private leaders, _hahrens_ \- the wisest elders, but having them did nothing for city elf well-being. It was time to change that.

Even with servants and retired Arl Eamon wandering about, King and Queen engaged Shianni as an equal; another unheard of feat from Fereldan monarchs. While _Bann_ was usually reserved for the smallest districts in the country, Alienages were isolated enough to need such a leader. Shianni was the logical choice, for when suspicions arose, she was the only voice to question it and help her people. As Bann, Shianni’s first duty was to choose a member for Alistair’s personal court - _another_ and necessary first if Alistair was to help his country thrive. Changing the name was also required; Alistair suggested Elven Gardens - something to help inspire sacredness of their Vhenadahl tree, the greatest reminder of elven roots. A reminder elven roots surpassed all races.

“As Denerim is the capital,” Alistair sipped his tea, then passed oatcakes and jam to Shianni, “her Alienage should be the example to all others. While a name change may not take for years, we can start with appearances and propriety, which may help change how others refer to it. With any luck, we can wash away bad luck and elven poverty will be but a _blink_ in the past.” The squeeze of his wife’s hand was assurance enough Alistair was doing the right thing.

Alistair already knew the trouble this would cause; the protests and reluctance from civilians and nobles alike, not to mention the Tevinter Imperium who first seeded the idea elves were inferior. But fighting the Blight with Zevran, an elven assassin-turned-brother _,_ proved elves were no different than humans. They bore the same needs, same pains, same laughter, same love. The world needed to catch up to this, but Alistair could start with Ferelden. The feat would elevate his image, and he was not afraid to hang or behead - or start war, if needed - to protect his reign. Orlais’ Empress, of similar mind, would stand by Ferelden if war ensued, and the already-united countries would triumph over the world. The greater king Alistair became, the better he could protect his wife. _That was all that mattered in the end._ Helping those in need, like elves who made powerful allies, only ensured that security.

 

Second order of business was set into motion by ennobling Shianni, and was almost _more_ fun. Alistair and Tess held private court for Arl Vaughan Kendell. Zevran, now Alistair’s official _private correction officer,_ stood as an element of _threat._ The ice in his eyes could not lie, he loathed Vaughan for believing highborn nobility entitled him to mistreat elves. Near him in plain view paced General Pádraig and Domhnall of _The King’s Resolve_ guard. Along the walls _so still_ they might be suits of armor stood more of _The King’s Resolve;_ once an uncelebrated elite guard now named for Alistair’s vow to preserve his wife. Vaughan Kendell was a coward in the face of actual threats; the display of weapons and muscle were for him.

Alistair sat on his throne, Tess nearby, as Denerim’s Arl entered the Landsmeet hall. Vaughan looked around, a slight frown masking surprise at the lack of _witnesses_ for an official court meeting. “Arl Kendell,” Alistair enjoyed using his _King voice_ and addressing self-willed nobles as formal as possible. It kept the distinction of _royalty above all_ alive in meetings. “Thank you for coming. Help yourself to tea.” Alistair gestured to the trays with steaming tea and fresh cakes servants began setting up.

Vaughan narrowed his eyes in suspicion; tea was not court custom. “You are too kind… Your Majesties.”

“Relax, Arl Kendell. This is a private matter, no need for strict formalities.” Alistair prepared two cups of tea, then brought one to his wife with an unhurried kiss; his other favorite way to show he was _King_ and therefore always above the opinions of lesser nobles.

“I more than love you,” Tess muttered, standing on her toes for another kiss before Alistair could walk away.

“Are you trying to make me soft in front of my Arl?” Alistair teased her. “You know the consequences for that,” he whispered with another kiss.

“I certainly don’t want you _hard_ in front of him,” she played with a small frown. The corner of her mouth pinched into a smirk.

Alistair grinned, almost unable to lick it off before turning to face Vaughan. “Tea, I insist,” he gestured again, sure Vaughan heard at least half their banter. Alistair sipped his hot drink with a wince. “Arl Kendell, you know why you are here today, do you not?”

Vaughan frowned deeper, hesitating his own tea. “Your letter said my _title_ needed attention. I was promised _advancement_ if I supported you. Am I to take that as _null,_ now?”

“Not at all. I have no intention of countermanding my wife’s word.” Alistair returned to his throne and took another sip. “I want to clarify the terms, though. I understand in exchange for your voice at the Landsmeet, my wife freed you from prison and offered you the choice of Denerim, Amaranthine, or Gwaren _and_ its appropriating title. Yes?”

“That is how I remember it,” Vaughan agreed.

Alistair looked at Tess, who nodded. “That is correct,” she approved.

“And my wife had the impression _Gwaren_ interested you. Also correct?” Alistair looked again at Vaughan.

“Indeed,” the Arl replied. He stood before them with an untouched cup of tea, looking from King to Queen.

Alistair paused, moving his eyes to give the illusion he sat pensive. “Very well. The teyrnir of Gwaren shall pass to the Kendell family.” Alistair hesitated to drink. Vaughan’s eyes zipped between his monarchs, clear amazement it was _that easy_ to obtain more power. **_“However,”_ ** Alistair projected his voice. Vaughan’s eyes and brows narrowed, and Alistair almost saw self-scolding thoughts for giving in to easy hope.

“You could have just stabbed me in the back,” Vaughan sneered.

“That is not necessary,” Alistair told him, “You are an _Arl,_ a vital part of this country. I have no reason to kill you. I also do not like being interrupted; do _not_ do that again,” he warned as if reprimanding a child. “As I said, I have no intention of revoking my wife’s promise, **_however_ ** _,”_ he continued, “Vaughan Kendell, you must _prove_ you are _ready_ for it.”

“What?” Vaughan’s face scrunched perplexed.

Alistair stood. It was always easier to govern while he paced, helped clear his mind and keep himself grounded. Not to mention standing let him tower over most people. “You have done this city a great disservice, Arl Kendell. You follow in the footsteps of your _neglectful father,_ adding to his aptitude for destruction.” Alistair met Vaughan’s eyes. “A good Teyrn does _not_ use his people like cattle. He does not _rape_ his women, he does not _kill_ his rape victims who fight to protect their _purity._ He does not storm through and interrupt their weddings to _shop_ for his next _play toy. And_ he does _not_ call their rejection an _uprising_ and destroy their district.”

 _“What?!”_ Vaughan screeched in a whisper. “They were _elves!_ They were hardly even people, not respectable nobles!”

“Elves are no less _people_ than you and I, Arl Kendell,” Alistair told him.

“It doesn’t matter what kind of people they are, they’re still sworn to the Arl of their city! I was well within my right to take whomever I please _when_ I please!”

“Robbing your people of their virtue and safety has never been a right of any Bann, Arl, or Teyrn. _Not_ to mention neglecting the city guard, and not paying those employed by your House. It is not the right of the King, so it cannot be the right of any noble below me. If your father misunderstood his duties as Arl, it fell to _you,_ as his heir, to correct his mistakes and be a better man. If you truly wish to be Teyrn, you must reform yourself into a man your citizens welcome into their homes with open arms.”

“Bah!” Vaughan scoffed. “What do _you_ even know leading anyway? You’re just a bastard.”

“Hold your tongue, Arl,” Pádraig warned. If Alistair wasn’t proof _bastard_ children were also worthy of greatness, Pádraig filled the shoe. Orphan and bastard, servant growing up, yet he stood now as _General_ to the King’s army.

“Or _I_ will hold it _for_ you.” Zevran glared hard, his favorite dagger in a slow turn at the opposite fingertip.

“What do _I_ know about leading?” Alistair echoed. “I’ve seen firsthand the repercussions of abandoning one’s king in battle. I almost lost a leg aiding the recovery of a poisoned Arl. To give my country a fighting chance against the Blight, I allowed myself to get lost deep underground where unbearable heat clouds minds and distorts reality, making enemies of loyal friends. Had General Pádraig not saved us from starvation, I could not stand here as your King, and the Archdemon would have _killed_ you. As soon as I _returned_ to the surface, I slaughtered darkspawn, killed a dragon, then rode _here_ and cleaned up the mess _you_ and _your father_ made of Denerim long before that traitor Rendon Howe took over. _All_ so the country would _still stand_ when the Blight ended.” Alistair stared so hard he did not blink. “I know a _lot_ about leading, Vaughan Kendell. A great deal more than _you,_ who grew up an Arl’s son. It is why _I_ am King, not you.

“If you go to Gwaren right now and govern the teyrnir as you have Denerim, the people will revolt,” Alistair told him, “and you will have nowhere to flee. As corrupt as Loghain grew, he raised it from a desolate ruin to a thriving port. Gwaren is a large place, and her citizens expect life to flourish again from the Blight. If you try to govern there _as the man you are today,_ you will make life _harder,_ not easier for them, and there is _nowhere_ you could run to escape their wrath in time.” Alistair watched Vaughan react. Frowning, brows fidgeting, trying not to look disturbed but it seeped out anyway.

Vaughan’s eyes shifted to Tess. “You’re the one who killed my sisters, then?”

Tess’ jaw tightened. “Yes. I know it may not mean much to you, but I do regret it.”

“Those accusations are done and dealt with, Arl Kendell. The Landsmeet determined that,” Alistair reminded.

“No,” Vaughan shook his head, “I’m not complaining. I hated them anyway. And it let me be Arl.” Alistair despised his outlook and priorities.

“You should consider sending him away, Alistair. He’d fit better in Antiva,” Zevran said. “Though he wouldn’t last two steps off the ship before some urchin cut him down for his clothes.” Vaughan scowled at Zevran; Alistair set his empty teacup down so he had an excuse to turn his back and smirk. Zevran met his eyes with a wink.

“Considering all you now know,” Alistair turned back to face Vaughan, “do you still wish to be Teyrn of Gwaren?”

Vaughan returned his king’s hard stare. Alistair read his face: Vaughan knew no other way to gain more respect. He also was worse than naive by believing power equaled respect. “Yes,” Vaughan gave a nod.

“Then you must prove it. Not to me, to the _city._ Denerim was in enough disarray _before_ the Blight. I understand much of that was Anora’s doing, but you are _also_ responsible. If you wish to be Teyrn, you will make amends. Repair your city, _do what is necessary to earn their respect. Only then_ will I give the teyrnir to House Kendell.”

A pregnant pause. Then, “How?”

 _“How?_ How to _lead?”_ Alistair guessed. Vaughan gave a quick nod; a brave admission. Alistair might feel sorry for this naive boy _if_ he hadn't a whole library on governing at his disposal at his own house. “Become one of them. Read, study, _eat_ as one of them, _train_ as one of them, judge with a fair mind and remember they are _all_ equals. _Leaders serve their people,_ Vaughan, not the other way around.” _Everything Alistair learned from Teagan._ “And do not forget _your King is here._ If you struggle in court, you know where I live. My home and my library are open to those who need them. Cailan and Anora should have made that clear when they took the throne. Asking for advice is _never_ a weakness. In fact, you will hire an adviser; I’ll choose one myself. Are we in agreement? You will _correct_ your mistakes upon the city of Denerim, and _upon_ earning the respect of your citizens, the crown will grant you Gwaren.”

“Agreed.” Vaughan showed potent dislike of the _idea_ of repair, but wanted _more power_ enough to try. It was a start.

“Very well. First things first, then. Pádraig?” Alistair gave a nod to his general. Pádraig returned the nod and opened the door leading to the palace halls.

“Am I free to leave?” Vaughan asked.

“Not yet,” Alistair said. He watched crimson hair retract from the door frame. The elf met Alistair’s eyes with a look he’d often on Tess. Shianni was anxious to face the man who violated her. Alistair softened his face and held out his hand. “It’s all right, my friend. Come. He will not hurt you.” A glance to Tess as she moved between Alistair and Vaughan showed her sympathy. Alistair understood facing Vaughan would always grieve Shianni, as mentioning Loghain still travailed Tess. Angst in an impenetrable flurry trying to stay boxed up; _no one_ deserved to feel that anguish.

With quiet urging from Leliana, Shianni stood straighter, smoothed her dress with a deep breath, and stepped past Pádraig through the door. The alienage elder - the _hahren_ \- followed her. Leliana stood with Pádraig when the door closed.

“Thank you for joining us,” Alistair smiled for the elves. “I know this is not easy.” He squeezed Shianni’s hand, hoping it assured her of his protection. “And Valendrian, it’s good to see you again.” Alistair had asked Shianni to bring her chosen adviser for his court. He met the slight woman’s eyes. Her discomfort was out of character for the loud, swearing protester he’d met months ago. “Am I to understand to this is the Bann’s choice?”

“Y-yes.” Shianni struggled to find her voice. She refused to look towards Vaughan Kendell. “Valendrian is our wisest, he knows us all. He deals - _corresponds_ with all other hahrens across Ferelden.”

“A perfect choice.” Alistair smiled again. “Welcome to my council. I look forward to your wisdom.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. This is a surprise and honor,” the aging elf said.

“And don’t worry,” Alistair assured again. “Considering the circumstances, Bann Shianni, it seems more appropriate you report to _me_ instead of Vaughan. If I am unavailable, my wife will see you.” A breath of gratitude shuddered through Shianni with a nod.

 _“Bann?_ Did I _miss_ something? Or should I remain in the dark, here?” Vaughan sneered.

When Alistair stepped away to face Vaughan again, the Arl frowned from elves to King. “First things first, as I said. Arl Kendell, you wish to prove yourself respectable and worthy of a teyrnir.” Alistair gestured to Shianni. “You can start here.”

 _“What?”_ Vaughan had a habit of expecting his way. Alistair would change that.

 _“Bann Shianni_ of the _Elven Gardens._ A _change_ is in order, Arl Kendell, and you will adhere to it like everyone else. You have done her, and others, a _great_ disservice. I have it on sworn accounts Bann Shianni was your _only_ survivor.” Alistair hardened to the man before him, turning to face him in whole. “You want to be Teyrn? Start here. _Apologize.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	2. Another Stretch of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess says a late goodbye to her parents, meanwhile Alistair creates a way to re-grow the country and Fereldan Grey Wardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Septimus, Stardust soundtrack](https://youtu.be/GVjC0GZjsOo)

Ferelden was thick in winter. Snow, chill winds, icicles hanging from every tree, rafter, and lamppost. _Fereldan_ winter; the harshest kind this side of the Frozen South. While not the ideal season for a _wedding_ tour, for a Fereldan it was _almost_ tea in the gardens. _The King’s Resolve_ rode with King Alistair and Queen Tesslyn on their frosty journey around the land. Fergus Cousland and Teagan Guerrin also rode along, planning to stay only until they reached home.

Their departure would finish parting the last family Tess and Alistair had.

Though the Blight swallowed half the country, there were still plenty villages unscathed. Small towns made the list of stops since places like Lothering and Redcliffe could not be rebuilt until springtime dried land and trees. With the Anderfels horses they rode fast, but Fereldan snow cared nothing for schedules. The accompanying mabari, including Tess’ hound Po, loved romping and bursting through mounds of white. Anderfels horses also loved knee-high snow, dipping to nuzzle and toss it up; those _on_ the horses held on tight, wrapped in wool to keep snow from collars. But as the sun fell and twilight descended, play ceased and the harsh Fereldan snow ceased to be fun. Visiting each settlement was as much for need as it was for show.

Amaranthine was the second stop. Alistair learned it produced most of Ferelden’s domestic materials. The county prospered with sheep, and the coast provided shells, sponges, and reeds; the best cleaning tools hailed from Amaranthine. The city was home to countless merchants, inland and dockside, and here unique goods flourished. Alistair was more interested, though, in Vigil’s Keep - the fortress owned by the Howe family and the ruling seat of the city. Tess frowned upon their arrival of the Keep, eyes peeled for traces of the man who murdered her family, though she took vengeance months ago. She reminded Alistair there was a Howe in the Free Marches, Nathaniel; the man Fergus had watch over Tess when she was abroad. There was a daughter, also; Delilah. According to the Seneschal, Delilah moved to Amaranthine not long after the youngest son Thomas went to hold Highever after the massacre. Without another word on the Howes, the Seneschal requested a replacement Arl to lead the lords of Amaranthine who _pestered_ him.

 _Highever._ More than Tess ever feared magic, Loghain or Howe, riding through her old hometown made her squirm. Worry increased the closer they rode, shaking her till she could not hold the reins of her horse or calm her breath. Even Po whined, more mournful as they neared. Alistair told the the guard to ride ahead, though Pádraig, Fergus, Arl Teagan and Zevran stayed behind. Alistair held his trembling wife who again heard screams and smelled burning bodies. He never considered returning meant reliving the nightmare that drove her to the edge at Ostagar. Alistair’s nightmares all resulted from the Blight; he forgot Tess had a decade’s worth of her own outside the Blight. They couldn’t even turn around, her agitation riled her horse and Pádraig had to pull it away. Before Alistair tried another calming method, an unexpected surprise met them.

Accompanied by two chevaliers, a stiff gentleman in flamboyant, puffy attire and a matching shiny eye mask trudged out in the path packed by the elite guard. “Eet ees about tahm!” the Orlesian accent was so thick Alistair almost couldn’t understand it. After what Alistair assumed was a welcoming speech, the little Orlesian man thrust a small sealed scroll into Tess’ hands, then spun away and marched out of the only clear word Alistair heard: _cold._

Alistair read the note with Tess, and for the first time since coming upon Cousland castle, Tess looked hopeful. While Empress Celene made her Ferelden debut at the royal wedding, her personal interior decorator remade the Cousland home into a place Tess could visit without reliving death. Another stretch of hope when a lifetime of good memories were at stake.

If Teagan’s home was a Par Vollen vacation, Cousland castle was an Orlesian daydream. Aside from the structure untouched, neither brother or sister recognized the place they grew up. The Cousland colors and heraldry mingled with Orlesian fashion, from the Chantry hall to throne room to guard barracks, even the kitchen. Ribbons, new paint, _so much white and gold,_ garland and tapestries, carpets, plants Fergus said Cousland castle never saw the likes of. Tess said it reminded her of the rooms Celene opened to impress her most intellectual guests. Drapes and winter vines hung down exterior stone walls, some braided and shaped into a living arch that dangled white bells and violet berries above their heads. Orlesian decor rearranged Tess’ old room so much she couldn’t remember what it looked like before. Fergus’ old quarters became a memorial to their parents and Fergus’ wife and son to honor the family. The idea for re-decorating, Fergus said as they walked halls, started with his admission to Celene his uncertainty in living there after the massacre. Though Fergus had missed the horror, it was the last place he'd seen his family - the place he knew he’d failed his child and wife. Fergus admitted then it gave him nightmares to consider how frightened his son had been that horrible night; Tess squeezed her brother's hand. “And I knew it would be worse for _you,_ sister. That was when Celene suggested all this.”

Alistair saw another aspect of Tess' relationship with Orlais' Empress. If ever there was concern Celene cared only for political security, redesigning the Cousland home annulled it. Both surviving Couslands needed to get away from home yet remain for duty. Empress Celene made that possible. It was now as if _the Couslands lived in Orlais,_ without actually leaving. _Celene gave them what they needed to move on_ _._ Alistair couldn’t imagine someone commissioning such an extravagant service without love, kinship. And as much as Fergus said his mother complained of Orlais, _she would have loved this._

The night ended far better than expected with Tess’ initial panic, as did the following nights. Drinks, silly memories, Po marking his territory on as many plants as he could get away with. The only tears came with happy memories. The start of _healing_ for brother and sister who had lost everything in this castle and never got to say goodbye. And in the morning before Tess, Alistair, Teagan, Zevran and the guard pressed on, before they left Fergus behind to begin his own reign as Teyrn, their small party gathered for a memorial pyre for bodies long passed. Tess’ goodbye broke Alistair’s heart.

With her pearl-tipped diamond-laurel tiara sparkling in the bright winter sun, Queen Tesslyn Theirin neé Cousland sprinkled powdered incense on the small fire. “I’m doing my duty, Father,” she sniffled. “Just as you wanted me to. I never forgot. I helped the Grey Warden. I did my part to end the Blight. And now I’m right where you wanted me all along. _A Cousland always does her duty.”_ Needing to let her father know she never forgot his last words.

For the first time, Alistair saw a complete picture. In the Korcari Wilds the day Alistair met her, Tess slaughtered the darkspawn _for her father; since_ her Joining, she slaughtered them for Alistair. It was never on Cailan’s orders, it was never Duncan recruiting her after saving her from Howe. Cailan might have thought so, and Duncan may have thought he followed orders, but it was never their say at all. Tess only ever followed Duncan to Ostagar _for her father._ _For love._ A grand path only the Maker could have set before her. For love, Tess became a Grey Warden. And for love, Tess became Queen and ended the Blight. Like love drove Alistair now to make his country a place worthy of his wife. Teagan wasn’t kidding when he called the Theirin-Cousland reign a _new rule._

The rest of the country was an eyesore. As much as nature tried to mask it in winter beauty, bones of once-flourishing town and farms stuck out of the ground. What remained became perches for birds enjoying the winter sun. The hoarfrost killed the Taint, but with feet of snow expected for months still, Ferelden was a long way from restoring even half her glory. Rainesfere was still the wonderland Alistair remembered; Pádraig, Teagan, and half the elite guard were glad to see their home unscathed. Redcliffe mimicked the rest of the land though: charred remains half-hidden by snow. The charring had been Alistair's doing, not darkspawn; he felt lucky Teagan recalled it in humor. It was a sore reminder they'd needed to sacrifice the town to stall the Archdemon.

The visit in Redcliffe saw another sleepless night for Alistair. Through a telescope, he saw town ruins: the Western Hills, Lothering, more farmland, small farming communities; important places. It hit him as he pondered how he could rebuild everything at once come spring: he needed more help _now._ Alistair needed to find a way to bring mass coin in. Most of Denerim’s guilds could not rebuild yet, not with lumber out of the question till spring. A new foundry had gone up in Denerim, but not everything could be metal. He needed laborers not afraid to venture out for dry material. Organized mercenaries like the Blackstone Marauders, only _more._ If he hired enough local gangs to unite with the promise of steady coin, he _may_ even rid thugs from the streets. Encourage the misfits to compete for _honor_ by offering more gold to those who did the King's bidding best. Send them on jobs like clearing snow from roads, hunting winter game, or to the Free Marches for building supplies. He wasn’t sure how to enforce mercenary loyalty without brute force, though, and he didn’t want other gangs rising up in thug absence.

 _No._ With a sigh, King Alistair shook his head. Better to demand _more_ supply from tradesman in the other cities, though that would strain existing customers. He shook his head again and downed the rest of his drink. Alistair needed a way to gain honorable bladesmen unafraid to dirty their hands _and_ remain faithful to their employer. _Skilled_ blades who already held respect. _But who?_ He hoped Gwaren held an answer.

Alistair had never been to Gwaren either. A seaside trading port that became famous for the minerals, arctic fish, and plants from the Frozen South borders, Gwaren grew and grew until the port inns no longer sufficed. The port became city, city became county, and county grew to support the numbers in the city. Alistair could not fathom why this teyrnir was not good enough for Loghain Mac Tir the Hero of River Dane. History told Alistair the late disgraced Loghain took the scraps of the city and turned into a magnificent bustling world; comparable in business and population to Denerim and Highever. Though the Blight had taken half the teyrnir, the remaining half showed no signs of a tragedy. Trade still bustled, guilds still thrived; unlike Denerim. Alistair saw the wealth of Gwaren without needing to look for it - and it only hardened him more to the dead general. All the opportunity - _this was where Alistair needed to send hired labor_ \- and Loghain emptied the _royal_ vault instead. It seemed now Loghain planned to overthrow Cailan from the moment Maric disappeared. With Gwaren still abundant, Loghain would have looked the sensible choice to rule. _Alistair had never been so glad to kill a man._

As grand as the city was, Loghain had let his house slip. Servants and the Seneschal kept the castle well enough, but Loghain all but abandoned it after Anora’s mother died. It was now little more than a luxurious home for maids. The Seneschal gave them a tour, told the history of the castle and pointed out the scenic views. Alistair and his men enjoyed the sights. Tess almost fumed to be back. She wandered on her own, not wishing to ruin the mens’ wonder, only to have the Seneschal lead them right to her.

Tess stood in the doorway to Loghain’s old quarters. Frowning, staring at the bed, Taint racing with her pulse. A single torch filled her fist. It hit Alistair then: _this was the bed Loghain tortured her on._ This was where she was tied on her back, gagged, where Loghain had the mage poison her womb. Alistair’s wife did not respond when he said her name. He could not tell if this was worse for her than recalling Highever’s massacre.

“Whose bed is this now?” Tess asked.

“No one’s, my - Your Majesty. No one’s used it since the Teyrn moved to Denerim,” the Seneschal answered.

“Good. You might want to move these drapes. And send for water.” Tess took the nearest oil lamp from the corridor and pushed past Alistair and Zevran. Without warning, she dumped the oil on to the bed and dropped the torch. In the time it took the Seneschal to gasp, flames rushed to life and licked at the bed. _It had to be done;_ Alistair knew that. He could only watch his wife. “You’ll want to flood the floor to save the grout,” Tess told the Seneschal. “Chop and burn again anything left.”

The morning fared better for Tess. No tears, no more fires. She insisted they stop by the castle, where she stood as Queen and apologized to the staff for causing panic, even promised compensation for repairs. _A Cousland always does her duty;_ Alistair thought it as much for her late father as it was to show her people she was reasonable. After hesitation, the Seneschal thought better of complaining and instead requested a replacement Teryn. _Then the crown could rebuild those not better off._ If a new Teyrn took control, guard could be managed and taxes reinforced, allowing the teyrnir to heal its wound from the Blight without taking away needed coin from Denerim; Alistair found himself impressed. The Seneschal insisted he was only trained to manage the lord’s house, not judge court every day, and _certainly_ not trained to run a busy port recovering from darkspawn.

Alistair recalled the Seneschal of Vigil’s Keep asking something similar. Both of their leaders had left, and both left each port to fend for herself. Alistair realized _this_ was in part why coin did not flow as well as it could yet; physical rebuilding set aside. The few citizens who rose to nobility while helping Denerim recover were still only _lesser_ nobles, too new to know about governing. Only those who knew how to _command respect_ could run a port, by exercising protection of the people’s best interests. It required those willing to do what must be done to survive. Seneschals were never meant to replace Arls and Teyrns; how had Loghain expected _stewards_ to fill in gaps _he’d_ created for the country?

Denerim’s bailey was a welcome sight. After the long cold ride and the never-ending banks of snow between villages, _home_ already looked like paradise. But riding through the gates brought another surprise. Amidst the snow and shouts to part for _Their Majesties,_ the riders slowed their horses to view the new attraction. During royal absence, the stonemasons erected a Grey Warden statue in the Atrium district. The tall tribute before them held a striking resemblance to the woman a horse away from King Alistair.

Queen Tesslyn looked at her husband and blinked, her face accusing. "You told them to give it _bosoms?"_

Alistair couldn’t help a laugh. _"I_ told them to model after our Grey Warden _heroes!"_ he said, amused all the same at the statue for certain favoring Tess; from stone bosoms to the scar on her cheek.

“Only… the stories only mention _one_ hero,” Pádraig said, cocking his head as he squinted up at the statue. _“Tesslyn.”_ True indeed: no tale of Alistair and Tess’ adventures during the Blight mentioned any Warden other than Tess. Pádraig looked over, and Alistair’s grin widened. It was the reason Alistair worded directions so; he knew the stonemason would not have heard of Alistair or Riordan. Pádraig shook his head and tried to hide a lopsided smile. “Your Majesty,” a glance to Tess, “if you’d like me to flog your cunning husband, just say the word.”

“Please,” Tess said, “And the words are: Take Zev with you. And undress first, all three of you.”

Pádraig snorted as Zevran laughed and the _King’s Resolve_ smirked and sniggered. Alistair grinned through flaming cheeks. “Pád, I’m beginning to think you do this on purpose.”

The signature sparkle in Pádraig’s eyes shone as vibrant as the reflection of winter sun on snow. “I don’t have a _clue_ what you mean, Alistair.” The hunch of his shoulders as he tried to duck a hard grin told Alistair he enjoyed this all too much. Pádraig especially enjoyed jokes he planned.

“I have to get payback somehow, don’t I?” Tess asked. “All those times I bite off more than I can chew.”

“Explains why I catch Pádraig _giggling_ when he rides next to you,” Alistair joked. He couldn’t complain though. They’d all endured heartache and some form of betrayal - against each other, even. It was good to finally joke like they used to.

“Don’t give him _all_ the credit, _I_ giggle _too.”_ Tess returned her eyes to the statue with a grimace of uncertainty. "Well,” she sighed, “I wonder if _Weisshaupt_ has anything as such? Though if they do, it will never be for _heroics._ The First Warden and his Constable are rumored quite vain and ambitious."

"Not a good quality in Wardens," Alistair said. Though considering his own position made him smile. “Isn’t it supposed to be _In death, sacrifice,_ or some horseshit like that?” He could never hold in grins well.

"Says the Warden who killed a General to become King," Zevran reminded blithe with a glint in his eye.

Alistair grinned wider. "Good thing the rest of the Wardens weren't here," he played along, "otherwise the entire Order would want my pretty chair." If the Wardens in Weisshaupt didn’t govern the Anderfels, it would not have been so amusing.

_But then…_

It was like a spark took flame. Alistair cocked his head at the statue, realizing _that was it._ He didn’t need _mercenaries,_ they couldn’t govern _and_ follow orders, and training one to would take too long. What Alistair needed was _Grey Wardens._ Wardens commanded their _own_ force _and_ protected like rulers should, _like an Arl should;_ not counting the lazy First Warden at Weisshaupt. Those in the field - the Wardens like Alistair and Tess, Duncan and Riordan - went above and beyond the call of duty. Wardens were not afraid of monstrosities either: no hesitation to strike a horrifying enemy; mercenaries tended to run. While a Teyrn of Gwaren was already in the making, Alistair knew of another suitable hole to fill: Amaranthine. _Vigil’s Keep._ Tess was Warden-Commander after all and it was high time the Order began rebuilding in Ferelden. Grey Wardens could fill all the roles Alistair needed for his country at once; and if they didn’t, Alistair’s throne was only two days away. With the Blight no longer a threat, Wardens would _need_ to solve local bounties to afford their own expenses. _And none better_ than the home of the man who set in motion Tess becoming Commander of the Grey.

Alistair met his wife’s eye with a wink. “Pádraig?” He tightened his grip on the reins and steered his steed around the statue.

“Aye, Your Majesty?”

“Round up your next best,” he told him; the _best_ were already in _the King’s Resolve_ _._ “Ferelden’s _Warden-Commander_ has some _recruiting_ to do.” Alistair laughed as his wife’s face fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	3. Hero of the Blight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's Templar skills are more useful than he imagined in his Chantry days when Tess' surprise _reward_ from killing the Archdemon requires special training. But will it make a difference when the First Warden of Weisshuapt pays a skeptical visit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Night, by Disturbed](https://youtu.be/UBv9TUQUDy0)  
> [Life Imitates Art, by Audiomachine](https://youtu.be/xA30eJUTwT4)

****The night Alistair walked in on his wife’s flaming hand changed everything.

As if receiving word the First Warden would visit did not raise suspicions, learning Tess absorbed the Archdemon’s magic did. Not just absorbed, but _absorbed enough_ to allow her to _use it at will._ _So_ ** _that’s_** _what the column of light was._ Killing the Archdemon turned Tess into a mage.

They had to keep it secret.

But at the same time, if no one knew, then any hope of making _incidents_ look like _accidents_ was lost.

Accidents happened anyway. At first in secret; little fires caused by mournful memory or surprise. Alistair succeeded in persuading servants candelabra fell over. But after the third accidental fire in two weeks, suspicions arose. At supper one night a fourth occurred: Tess misjudged reaching over a candle and her sleeve caught fire, and in her surprise, her hands lit aflame. The entire room froze and stared; the elite guard, Zevran, the fussy nannies Teagan sent, and a young serving girl standing by. Pádraig broke silence by promoting the young girl to Tess’ private handmaiden; a station right above the fussy nannies, designed for trailing the Queen as official confidant. He also suggested they resume the Templar training Alistair once taught. _Put all that… leftover lyrium to good use,_ he said. With another order of silence for all, Pádraig filled his goblet with hard liquor and downed it. His wide eyes relayed a unanimous thought: _How would they keep this secret?_

Pádraig’s wisdom played true again, though. Templars developed their talents akin to their Qunari friend methods, and they all trained under Sten during the Blight. Heavy meditation - focusing on a single idea until the body aligned with the intent. Resistance - forcing the body to overcome weakness, eliminating the ability to give up. Templar training differed little. In place of muscle failure - though Templars did their share of physical conditioning - came meditation of prayer. They called forth Andraste’s will, praying until they felt power surge within their hands where they could turn it against evil magic. Over time with stern practice each day, Templars could summon this holy strength in the blink of an eye, allowing them to stop foul magic in progress. Lyrium sped the surging process, though not needed after one mastered training, but Tess had plenty in her bones from over a decade of overdosing. And while they had no evil magic to stop, training dummies and archery boards provided targets for Tess to focus on.

Frustrating at first, Templar methods over time grew on Tess. Her Holy Smites held a different hue than Alistair’s or the guards’; the same blue and white from when she caught fire. On hard days when Tess woke from nightmares or couldn’t stop thinking of her parents, her Cleanses and Holy Smites sparkled in the late winter sun like frost. But each successful strike weakened her; unlike Morrigan, Alistair recalled, who could perform full spells for an hour straight before exhausting. Tess’ new… _mana_ regenerated faster than any mage Alistair ever saw, but successful _spells_ seemed to use it all at once. Because of this, Templar training sometimes took half a day. With sheets and tablecloths catching fire, royal duties had no choice but wait until Tess achieved at least one proper _spell._ The alternative was accidental fires throughout the palace.

Maker forbid one happen while she met with a foreign emissary.

If anything came of Templar training, it disguised accidental igniting of Tess’ hands.

Then came the day the First Warden arrived. The morning was tense, Templar training unsteady and nerves stricken. _Agitation_ more than anything. The letter announcing the visit rang with doubt. The First Warden did not believe Tess and Alistair stopped the Archdemon. The Warden who made the killing blow, after all, should be dead, but Tess was far from it. As Alistair observed - not that he would tell the First Warden - Tess was healthier than she’d ever been. The _King’s Resolve,_ Zevran, and Oghren couldn’t believe a Warden, of all people, dared to accuse them of not killing the Archdemon - not to mention a Warden who refused to help end the Blight. It even irked Shale and Branka; who only remained to start their own adventure when Wynne returned.

By the time a servant entered the Landsmeet Hall to announce the Anderfels visitors, the monarchs loyal party stood poised - and if needed, ready to attack.

Three aging Wardens stepped in the room, leather and metal scuffing against the stone floor. Two donned beards; one’s split like Alistair’s. Small scars; claws or armored fists. They did not walk like survivors, they strolled like nobles; better than the air around them. Despite the Anderfels was rumored more dangerous than the Deep Roads, it already was obvious these Wardens had not seen horrors the like Alistair and Tess saw. The comfort Alistair expected to feel with their Taint did not come. It only felt like warning.

Alistair stepped past his wife, standing as tall as he could. “First Warden Adalbern, I presume.” He was not asking. “I am King Alistair Theirin. You’ve already heard of my wife.” He gestured back, staring ahead at the eldest man who held his gaze. “Queen Tesslyn Theirin, the _Hero of Ferelden._ ” Alistair allowed a pause while the three Wardens peered at Tess. “The _Hero_ of the _Fifth Blight._ My wife killed the Archdemon. Try to remember courtesy when you address her.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” an accent so thick it sounded of sarcasm despite the pleasantries. Unlike its neighboring countries Nevarra and Orlais, the Anderfels bred barbed, throaty voices. If an Anders talked fast enough, his native tongue sounded like a drunken rant while trying not to sneeze. “We’ve heard the stories indeed. May we move somewhere more cozy? It has been an uncomfortable journey. I do not know why your servants led us here.” The silver-haired man looked around, showing off streaks of black in his mane, while his beard was almost pure white.

“You’ll forgive the accommodations, First Warden. There will be no relaxing tonight. I am a _King_ and we are in _my country._ There is never a time for rest. The Queen and I are busy people; I’m sure you understand. What business you need to discuss, we will address here and now. We have a prior engagement in two hours.” If no fight erupted, they indeed had a schedule to keep. Benneit of _the King’s Resolve_ married a talented woman - Denerim’s famous confectioner. She always reserved samples of her newest sweets for the King and Queen. She expected them that night. Sweets were always a priority when up against doubting commanders.

“Two hours? I’m curious how Fereldans tell time with the Frozen South so close.”

It was no secret Ferelden and southern Orlais required special compasses to navigate. The Frozen South disturbed compasses; made striking needles with lodestone pointless. The farther south one went, the more common sextants became; Anders might not use them. With sextants _and_ compasses - and a monitored hourglass, journeys across the Imperial Highway were almost timed to the hour and often needed to. This method limited bandit attacks and kept constant trade safe with Highway guard patrols. In Thedas, precise navigation contributed to the telling of time. Not to the minute or second like dwarves or the Qunari, but Ferelden came close.

But the science of telling time was in plenty books on governing. Books a governing man like the First Warden should have already read. Such curiosity for a learned man like the First Warden was out of place.

Alistair smiled, not letting it reach his eyes. “We manage.” As if on cue, the quarter-hour bell at the docks rang. _“Water clocks,_ First Warden, and more. We’re not primitive. We’re _resourceful._ But your notice mentioned a concern about the Blight.” He dropped his smile, refusing to let this Warden further intrude upon his country.

First Warden Adalbern hesitated, eyeing the King. “Yes. First, though, _Your Majesties.”_ He gestured with each hand to the Wardens at his side. “High Constable Erwin and Chamberlain Finnr.” Each gave a small bow in courtesy.

“The pleasure is mine. _First,”_ Alistair continued too quick, not letting Chamberlain and Constable speak. _“_ I must address my request to rebuild the Order here, First Warden,” Alistair said. “Ferelden will need Wardens again before the next Blight, I have no doubt. Darkspawn are always a threat somewhere. But my wife and I _already have_ a job. We _need_ to rebuild, that is _fact._ As _King,_ I can guarantee Wardens are welcomed. Orlais has already offered to arrive in spring to aid us in this task, so _you_ lose no men. I’m _curious_ why you rebuked Orlais’ Warden-Commander?” Orlais’ last letter regarding assistance rebuilding informed their Warden-Commander was denied transporting the Joining potion or recipe to Ferelden. It was a most suspicious denial when the First Warden doubted the Archdemon died. “I understood each Commander made their own decisions.”

“I rebuked nothing, I simply postponed my approval. It relates to my letter, you see. My concern regarding the actions taken the day the Archdemon suppos-”

 _“Get on with it,_ First Warden.” All eyes flew to Tess. Alistair raised a brow towards his wife. Tess sat reclined, frowning, an elbow rested on the arm to hold her fist up. Alistair felt the tiny pulses of the Archdemon’s mana as if she pushed them back, trying to contain them. “You’re saying I _killed_ the Archdemon _wrong._ After all I’ve been through to save my country, my _husband,_ and in turn _the world,_ you must see how I _cannot_ take that in stride.”

First Warden took a deep breath. “Yes, well, word arrived Warden Riordan from Orlais was sent to aid the one Warden rumored to survive Ostagar. But I also know he died during the Blight. You were _told_ how Archdemons die?”

Tess’ eyes narrowed more. Alistair almost expected her eyes to burn. “Would you like to know how that feels first hand? I will describe _every_ moment.”

“That is what we do not understand,” the First Warden said. “Had you truly killed the Archdemon-” Tess sat straighter with a darker glare “-you would be dead. That is how _every_ Blight has been.”

 _“Past_ Blights didn’t have my _wife,”_ Alistair interrupted.

The First Warden shot him a glare. Formalities dissolved. A scowl formed. “Why are you both alive? Why is Riordan dead when you claim he died _before_ the Archdemon? When Wardens _die with_ Archdemons. With the Warden who killed the Archdemon still alive, you see how I cannot take _your word_ in stride,” he turned Tess’ words around. Alistair stiffened; _Protector._ He made a show of grabbing _Starfang’s_ hilt. “With you still alive, it can only mean one thing: _the Archdemon still lives._ You _must_ have done something wrong. _If_ you killed it. Though I cannot fathom even _recruits_ letting it free.”

 _“If_ I killed it?” Tess asked in disbelief.

“Are you accusing the _Archdemon_ of _buying_ us off?” Alistair asked, twisting words on purpose.

“Private Weisshaupt records tell us Wardens recruited during Blights fall in a sort of _reverence_ to the Archdemon. You would not be the first recruits to try. It is why killing Archdemons is initially left up to senior Wardens,” the High Constable spoke, hands behind his back.

While Tess indeed had a unique close connection to the Archdemon, her lyrium - not the timing - accounted for the relationship. And Tess never wished to let it live. Even accepting Morrigan’s proposal was done to keep _Alistair_ alive, not the _Old God_ the Archdemon once was. “Of _course_ I revered him. I’m _Tainted._ _All_ Wardens revere the greatest Taint. It’s in our blood, we can’t help it. Down in the bowls of the land where Darkspawn thrive and even Wardens devolve, _everything_ bows to the Archdemon.” Tess never broke eye-contact. “No matter where the Archdemon goes, anything Tainted cannot fight submission. _Urthemiel_ never once bargained for his life, not even when he knew I intended vengeance. He _tried_ to make me kill my _husband; he knew_ I would fight him to the death. He just never expected I’d live long enough to try.”

“Then there is nothing preventing you from telling me _how_ you killed him. If you have nothing to hide, there is no harm obeying your commanding officer. Is there?” Adalbern urged.

Tess, still glaring, sat straighter in the throne. Her disapproval of the Anderfels Wardens presence could cut stale bread. _“You_ are no commanding officer of _ours._ We may be Grey Wardens, but _our_ commanding officers _died fighting_ the Blight. They did _not_ sit on their asses.” Her eye twitched as the First Warden gaze narrowed. “Fascinating how the _First Warden_ didn’t have the courtesy even to _write._ _Isn’t_ it, husband?” _Queen_ Tesslyn stared down the three Wardens with a pulse that began throbbing. Her jaw tightened as she made a fist; she tried to to keep _the Archdemon’s mana_ under control. Thank the Maker their present allies knew what to expect.

 _“Quite._ I’d _think_ the First Warden would have desired the Warden Commander had resources to _fight_ the Blight.” Alistair always loved when his wife put others in their place. Even if she set the First Warden on fire; _he almost laughed at the idea;_ it would be worth it to see her passion emerge. She grew more tolerant as time went on, but it was a part of her that excited Alistair from the start. The way she held herself when she fought for him, and her, was exquisite. He was more than happy to indulge this side of of her. _“Best_ if a Blight ends before it truly begins, of course.”

“Yet I don’t recall you trying to _help_ us, First Warden,” Tess continued, leaning back into the throne. “You did not bother lifting a finger to tie a _boot,_ did you, when you heard Ostagar wiped out Ferelden’s Wardens. _Darkspawn triumph over Grey Wardens_ … No ordeal worth concerning _yourself_ over. Am I right? Too troublesome to send _letters_ or sail over when news of the two surviving Wardens found Andraste’s Ashes _or_ saved the Circle _or_ helped Orzammar.” She paused to turn her head, keeping her eyes on the unwelcome guests. “How long did all that take, Zevran? Do you recall?” Much kinder a tone to their _brother_ the assassin than she was to the First Warden who challenged her.

Zevran glared without blinking. “Nine months in the Deep Roads. One month in Rainesfere where you healed after two Shrieks stabbed you at once, one month back and forth _twice_ to Orzammar. Two days in the Tower, one week to get there. Three months finding the ashes. If I didn’t know better, that sounds likes a year and two months. Not counting the six weeks it took to find and recruit the Dalish."

“Warden-Commander Duncan _also_ told me the Blight started Nine: Twenty-Five. That was five years _before_ my Joining.” Tess looked like she hoped to kill their audience with her glare.

“That’s a _long_ time to pretend the Blight didn’t exist,” Alistair aided his wife.

“I have _scars,_ First Warden,” Tess said, “where no woman should have them. Stabbed in the _lungs_ by Shrieks in the Deep Roads. Squeezed almost to death by an _ogre_ at Ostagar. I have so many I _despise_ mirrors now. Do _you_ have scars?” she demanded.

“I am not here to discuss battle trophies, Warden-Recruit-”

 _“Commander of the Grey,”_ Alistair corrected. “My wife used her cunning to destroy the Archdemon in ways it did not imagine. _Her_ blade ended its life. No mere recruit can do that. In fact,” Alistair stretched his legs in a slow pace, “as the only Warden in this room who has killed an Archdemon, I _believe_ my wife is qualified to be _First Warden.”_

“As your _wife_ lives and breathes in this room today, that is all the evidence we need she did _not_ kill the Archdemon. The Order demands you reveal what transpired! _We_ are the _saviors of the world!_ It is our _duty_ to kill the Archdemon, and it is _fact_ Wardens who kill an Archdemon _die!_ If we let Archdemons escape out of _fear,_ there will be nothing left in ten years!” 

_“Fear?”_ Tess echoed, sitting up again. “What do _you_ know about _fear,_ First Warden? _You_ refused to _help._ _Orlais_ sent _Riordan,_ but _you_ couldn’t send someone? _Afraid_ announcing a Blight to the Anderfels would make your precious citizens would look to their _king_ for guidance instead of _you?_ First Warden, you did not have the _Maker forsaken fucking guts_ to get off your ass and _help end_ the Blight when, until the Landsmeet, it was only _speculation_ Grey Wardens _might_ survive in Ferelden. According to the world after the defeat at Ostagar that killed King Cailan, there was _no_ chance Wardens survived, and _knowing_ that, the First Warden just _shrugged_ his shoulders and said… _what?_ How exactly _did_ you respond to the Blight? _Oh Well? It’s not real?_ Or, _Someone else will take care of it?_ You sat there and _brushed off_ the Archdemon’s screeches and poured another ale? Yet _now_ the First Warden has the _guts_ to come into _my_ home and tell me _I_ killed the Archdemon _wrong?”_

“Because you _did_ do it wrong! If you _had_ killed it, you would be dead! But you _aren't,_ so that means it still lives. You put us all at risk _again!”_

Alistair felt Tess’ aura pulse again; this happened more and more lately.

“You _have_ no such right!” Tess’ lip curled up in a scowl. “If the Archdemon wasn’t dead, it would have come back already. _Every_ Warden in Thedas knows this! I don’t know _why_ I’m alive! For all _I_ know, the _Maker shielded_ me. Or my _husband’s love_ shielded me. _Or_ it could be my _lyrium_ \- I _took_ lethal doses for eleven years. It only made me _immune_ to things that kill others. _Raw_ lyrium in the Deep Roads allowed me to _block out_ the Taint and the Archdemon’s voice so I could fight without killing my husband. Does Weisshaupt have _that_ recorded? It _could_ also be the _experiments:_ _lyrium_ made me _absorb magic_ but _Tevinter_ taught me to _harness_ it, to _store_ those spells as weapons. I _guarantee_ you haven’t heard about _that;_ Magisters do _not_ let their secrets loose so easy.” Tess chose to focus on her lyrium addiction. As much as she tried to forget Morrigan existed, Tess did her best now to keep the _dark ritual_ an utter secret. And her addiction was an excellent decoy, an anomaly in itself no one understood. “A living rune, _First Warden._ Lyrium and Tevinter allowed this: I drink _lyrium,_ then I can move incoming magic _right_ back out.” 

Face etched in concentration, Tess’ hands bloomed with flame. _And the secret was out._ Alistair held his breath while he watched the intrusive Wardens.

White and blue flame danced at her fists. _Thank Andraste no one else saw._ “I am _not_ a mage. I was _never_ a mage. I even failed my attempt at _Templarhood;_ _too eager_ for the next dose of _lyrium._ But when I cracked open Urthemiel’s skull open and stabbed his brains to mush, I absorbed magic like _all other_ Blight magic that night. _Lyrium_ allowed me to absorb Urthemiel’s magic upon his death, and thanks to _it_ and a Magister’s experiments, my body holds it in like _canned jelly._ Without lyrium, it would have killed me. And I bet none of you - _any_ Wardens - knew Archdemons use _magic_ instead of real fire.” With a deep breath, Tess extinguished her hands. Shuddering arms hugged against her chest. Tess winced like she was in pain. Even that little show expended her new _mana. “Now,_ I have to exercise _constant diligence_ not to blow things up.” She paused to catch her breath, the tremble seeping into her chest and shoulders.

“We risked our lives _a dozen times and then some,”_ she continued, “to _end_ that fucking Blight while _you_ sat there and _waited for us to fail._ And while your asses grew _numb_ on your thrones in the Anderfels -” Tess’ voice broke to refill breath “- _well_ out of reach, _I_ risked my life _again_ and _almost died_ killing that blasted dragon. I _lost_ my life to _save the world!_ I am _not a mage,_ but _this_ is what the _Blight made me into!_ This fucking Blight took _every bit_ of Tesslyn Cousland and _re-made her_ into something even _I_ don’t recognize half the time! I _traded myself_ for the _world!”_

_Alistair had no idea his wife felt this way._

“And if not for magical healing, I would _not_ have woken from my coma. Every scar you see on my face is proof _I_ fought my ass off to end the Blight while _you did nothing!_ My husband has _scar_ over _scar_ over _scar_ on the _same leg_ from trying to get _resources_ to _save us all!_ Look at his face! Look at _my_ face! _We_ stopped the Blight! _We_ made _all_ the effort, the _only_ effort! _You_ sat on your throne and dealt with _petty nobles_ while _we,_ two inexperienced Wardens whose _mentor_ ** _died_** before he could tell us **_how_** _to end it,_ ended the Blight anyway! Don’t you _dare_ come into my home and tell me _I_ killed my own pests wrong when _YOU DID NOTHING TO HELP!”_ she screamed. “It’s _dead, I_ did it! _Me!_ You only _stand_ here because _I killed it!_ _Nightmare_ after _nightmare_ and I _still_ cannot wake from it! _”_

With another deep breath to calm herself, Tess stood, smoothed her gown, and straightened to their _guests._ “First Warden, High Constable, Warden Chamberlain, you are in _my_ country and _I_ am _Queen_ ** _and_** _Commander of the Grey._ We will _have_ our new Wardens and you will _not_ rescind the order again. It _is_ an _order,_ from the _one_ who did your job _for_ you. You are _not_ welcome in Ferelden. Not now, not ever, and that will go in palace records. _In Peace, Vigilance;_ that is _all_ that matters - and you have disturbed the _peace_ of my home _and_ disrespected our _sacrifice._ Get out, or in _vigilance_ I will remove you by force _._ No one in Ferelden knows you’ve come so _no_ one will know you’ve died. You have till the count of two. _One -”_

On a sudden, Shale moved from the side of the hall, then Branka. The First Warden and his company started and stared. _Alistair loved his golems._ Swift in succession the others revealed themselves: Pádraig stepped forward, swinging his greatsword ready. Zevran stood beside Tess, twirling his daggers till they showered glares upon the First Warden. _The King’s Resolve_ stepped into view from hidden alcoves around the hall, unsheathing their weapons almost in unison. First Warden Adalbern’s face revealed _he knew_ they had him surrounded. _Reminiscent of the Archdemon’s last hour._

The First Warden scoffed and turned to leave, silencing the High Constable’s protests of irritation. “Fine! Have it your way! You’ll have your Wardens to rebuild!” He threw up a hand of dismissal, backside addressing them as his feet marched. “Just know this will go in _my_ records.” 

Tess glared after them. “No one will remember _your_ records,” she called, her voice echoing. _“You_ _disgraced_ Weisshaupt when you ignored the Blight. _No one_ will remember you. But _I_ will live _forever_. _I_ am the Hero of the Fifth Blight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	4. Fathom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if the party splitting, absorbing the Archdemon's magic, and the First Warden's dismissal wasn't enough, Morrigan is brought to light. Alistair's General, who loved Morrigan during the Blight, reminisces with the only person he can relate to after the Dark Ritual: Tess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood music:   
> [I Gave You All, by Mumford & Sons](https://youtu.be/00dcKqc5H-A)

**_Tess:_ **

_Wooden feet scrape across stone as a chair slides next to mine. Pádraig makes his bum at home on my least favorite seat and holds out an etched silver goblet._

_“Your Majesty,” he greets as I take the chalice. My husband’s General. Pádraig used to be closer to Alistair. He spends more time with me now, though, than with the men. Alistair thinks it’s because of… that witch, but he and Pádraig never speak of it._

_I take a deep breath and push the apostate from my mind. “You broke out the silver. What’s the occasion?” I watch clear juice splash down. Smells of rum and Par Vollen_ _milk fruit; large, palm stone fruits with sweet milk and chewy white meat._ _My favorite rum. Teagan sent a crate of it when he returned home._

 _“No occasion.” Pádraig fills his own goblet and settles in. He looks ahead as he sips, out the window over the town. My solar lets me see it all… as if the Queen should_ **want** _to stare at town all day. Sometimes I think Pádraig might make a better Queen; he loves this window. He finally turns his head. “You’ve been quiet since we returned from the tour,” he says as I drink._

 _“I_ **knew** _there was a reason.”_

 _“I’m concerned, that’s all. It’s my_ **job** _to worry about you,” he reminds._

_“That somehow makes it so much better.” I toss the rest of the rum back and hold out my empty goblet for a refill._

_“Then you’ll be glad to know I’m not on duty right now.” He fills my cup anyway. “Was it seeing Highever again? Or the First Warden?”_

_“And here I thought you’d come to ask what it feels like to be a mage,” I joke without a smile._

_He’s right, though. I haven’t said much since the tour. Since the wedding, actually._ _The First Warden showing up to scold me helped none._ _I’m not convinced my new_ **talent** _is the cause, either. Life feels strange, now. Our party has split; siblings I never knew I had till the Blight. The only family I have left has parted ways, back to their own lives. I hardly see Zevran or Oghren anymore, even though Alistair’s hired them to live with us. Life feels empty now._

_I’m even avoiding my duties today. Plain and simple, I feel strange._

_“I think we’re all hoping that will work itself out,” he answers. He sits pensive for a moment. “Does it worry_ **you**?” _he searches my face._

 _“Stealing the Archdemon’s magic and hoping Templars don’t come for me?_ **No** , _of course not.”_

 _Pádraig shakes his head. “That won’t happen, Your Majesty._ **I** _know you’re not a mage.”_

 _I sigh. “Pádraig, please stop calling me that. Only for a_ **day,** _would you_ **please** _talk to me like I’m not the…_ **mother** _of the sodding country?”_

_“Never, Your Majesty.”_

_I frown. “Fucking Generals,” I grumble and drink. From the corner of my eye, Pádraig laughs to himself._

_“Then what,_ **Tesslyn** ?” _he emphasizes._

_“Tess,” I correct._

_“I thought you reserved that for family only?” he asks. He’s right. It feels strange when people I don’t consider family call me Tess._

_“Tess,” I repeat, my voice echoing in the chalice. Pádraig has been family enough, even if his nannying riles my nerves sometimes. Though perhaps that only proves he’s family._

_Pádraig pauses. He drops his head; I try not to peek at the dawning on his face. “I suppose Thank You is in order…” He still hesitates, though. Breathes deep. “All right. Tess.” He almost acts like he’s committing some dirty crime. I could laugh at these boys I live with. They’ll peck each other till they’re giggling and groping another, but they all fall humbled when I say little things like this. Pádraig shrugs. “I’m only worried. You don’t laugh as much as you used to,” he continues._

_“None of us do.” I tip my head back to catch the rum._

_Pádraig refills my goblet without a prompt. “You most of all. Though I can’t fault you. However-”_

_“Here comes the lecture.”_

_“-you’ve been most quiet since we left Redcliffe._ **Before** _you killed the Archdemon.”_

_Morrigan. Pádraig is talking about that sneaky lying witch and her fucking life-saving ritual._

_My head drops with a deep exhale. Trying to pretend my pulse hasn’t shot through my veins already. “Damn you.” It shouldn’t surprise me he brings her up. I saw him melt all over her. But he_ **knows** _this bothers me. Why would he bring her up now? Of all fucking times? Did he think I wouldn’t mind if he bribed me with my favorite drink? Does he think time mends_ **all** _wounds?_

_“No, no - can we?”_

“ **Why?** _What_ **good** _can possibly come from talking about_ **her?** ” _I sit back, shaking my head. It’s hard to fight my face pinching in. Almost as bad as remembering the night Loghain turned on me. “Next time just stand in the door and_ **assume** _I don’t want to talk about this! Do you know how it feels to hear_ **her name?** _No! Just…_ **no!** ” _I almost trip over my stupid gown trying to stand to put distance between us. I need to get away from this, I need her name gone for good! She doesn’t belong here, this is_ **my** _life! “Does anybody even care how_ **I** _feel when people mention her? What it does to_ **me?** _How it reminds me that somewhere in the fucking world a woman I called_ **sister** _is_ **pregnant** _with_ **my husband’s child** _when_ **I** _can’t conceive?!” I point to the door._ _I do not care if I'm overreacting. She helped the Blight ruin me. I won't have her mentioned in my palace!_ _“Get_ **out** , _General. Just… get out! You_ **know** _I hate this subject yet_ **you** _brought it up._ **None** _of you understand what its like to be me and hear her name! I won’t allow it in this house! I’ve suffered enough!”_

 _“But I’m the_ **only** _one who understands.” Pádraig stands and faces me. Paces apart, staring at me with a frown that reminds me of my own pain. “I can’t talk about this with Alistair.” He shakes his head. “You and I_ **both** _lost someone that day, even though I didn’t learn until later. The same thing happened to_ **both** _of us: the person I love bedded my closest friend, and I wake every day knowing what happened._ _Every day I find myself face-to-face with the person who took what..." Pádraig's eyes drift with a layer of gloss. " What should have been mine." He swallows and blinks. "_ _Try to forget the bad and remember the good.”_

_My life in a single sentence. I fucking hate him for bringing her up._

_“I lost_ **two** _things, actually,” he says, “I lost Morrigan_ **and** _my brother. Alistair is just…_ **Alistair** _now. He’s my King. He’s the_ **husband** _of my_ **Queen** ,” _he corrects himself. “It’s not the same. It will never be the same.” Pádraig pauses again, regret on his face as he avoids my glare._

_I hate when he does this, when he reads my fucking mind. I hate that he’s right. He’s always fucking right._

_I didn’t want this to happen today._

_He blinks and pulls his uniform hat over his head; off-duty yet always ready. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was out of line.” His legs stride long across the room. Opening the door swirls in a draft that cools wet streaks down my cheeks._

_That asshole._

_“I_ **trusted** _her, Pádraig,” I get out before he leaves the room._

_His feet halt, hand on the door handle. His head turns but he doesn’t look at me. “And I trusted Alistair.” He pauses for a faint sniffle. "Ye ken, that whole day as we fought through the city, he encouraged us. Me and her.” My husband’s friend doesn’t seem so fond of my husband anymore. He plays face well in front of others better than I guessed. “I didn’t stay for Alistair. I may be the King’s General, but I serve my Queen.”_

_My face scrunches again. Damn this boy._

**Why?** _Why does he have to do this? He couldn't bring up Sten? Or talk about funny memories at Teagan's?_ **Why** _does it have to be the woman who betrayed us both?_

 _..._ **Helped** _betray us both._

_He’s right. The person she betrayed us with sleeps next to me every night. Eats with us. Walks the gardens with us._

_I can’t imagine facing Morrigan right now knowing she has a baby that should be mine. As bad as it hurts, I can’t imagine what it’s like for_ _Pádraig living here with Alistair._

_“Get in here and shut the door.” I wipe my face with my palms and turn back to my chair. “Help me finish this bottle.”_

_I don’t look over as Pádraig returns to the seat. My hand shakes and clanks the bottle against my chalice. I don’t look when I pass the rum._

_Hard sweet juice dribbles down my chin. Pádraig drinks straight from the bottle. And the room is still for a moment._

_“I miss her,” Pádraig breaks the silence._

_I can't say the same. I don't want to. I don't want to admit I never saw through her from the beginning._ _“She was the only one who never treated me like I needed to be fixed,” I say, staring out at my husband’s city. Pádraig watches me drink._

_He turns back to the window with the bottle to his mouth. A trembling breath puffs his chest. “She’s younger than me. Dinnae ye ken?” Pádraig turns twenty in three months._

_I nod. “Fifteen when she left her mother to help us.” Help. As much as I want to deny it, she - Morrigan - helped us more than I can say. “She learned how to heal for me.” I did_ **not** _want to spend my day crying. Not like this. “I got her a mi- a jeweled mirror for her birthday when we first came to town. She thought I wanted her to compensate me.” I never wanted a thing from her. Just a sister. I’d always wanted a little sister but never had one. Until her. My face crushes together again and more tears spill out. “ And my- my daughters in the Fade called- called her Auntie.” I don’t have enough tears today, I guess._

 _Maker, why did this have to happen today? Why did this need to be talked about_ **today?**

 _I didn’t realize I missed Morrigan so much. I haven’t_ **let** _myself miss her. I’ve tried so hard to forget she spent all that time preparing to sleep with the man she watched me fall in love with. “It_ **hurts.”** _It hurts she didn’t tell us from the beginning. It hurts to think if she_ **had** , _I’d not married Alistair and my addiction would have killed me, or worse. It hurts to know my husband_ **enjoyed** _the ritual. It wasn’t_ **just** _a ritual when he took so long._

 _I more than love my husband. I cannot sleep without him, I miss him terribly when I can’t be with him all day._ _When I can't think or can't stop crying from nightmares, he is_ **always** _there._ _But I can’t get forget that ritual no matter how hard I try._

 _Pádraig nods, his eyes closed. “It does. It hurts worse than any flesh wound.” He fill the goblet and brings it to his face with both hands. Deep drinks, wincing with each swallow. “I understand why, ye ken? I’m not sure_ **I** _could have done the_ **same,** _but… to save my family? I understand that. But it fucking hurts. My_ **brother** _led me on with a false fucking blessing and refused to tell me what he did, why the women we love were upset. I had to figure it out myself.” Pádraig watches the rum swirl in his cup. “She said that he- that it hurt. You’re the only reason I haven’t hit him.” He winces. “He shoved her around while you slept, also. Your_ **brother** _held me back, then.”_

_I didn’t know that part. Alistair said he told Pádraig, Fergus, Eamon, Teagan, and Zevran. But he never said what happened._

_It hurts more to admit my husband has forgotten the whole thing but me and Pádraig can’t. And we weren’t even there for it._

_I don’t blame Pádraig for wanting to hit my husband. If Morrigan had hurt Alistair,_ **I** _would have hit_ **her**. _Had I been awake and Pádraig hit my husband, I’d have hit Pádraig right back. But I understand._

_Sodding right again, the asshole. Pádraig and I are the only ones who know what this feels like._

_“I slapped him,” I tell him. Pádraig looks over. His eyes are red and glossy and bags are forming under. I’ve never seen him sorrowful before. Not the General who screamed at armed dwarves on the rooftop. “That night. When he came back. I slapped him. And then I sobbed all over him.” I search his eyes. I’m here dripping and he’s not yet. Pádraig handles sorrow better than I do. “Now it’s just another nightmare I try to forget.” I duck my head and run my palms under my eyes. “Part of me thinks it was a mistake.”_

_“But then you’d have died with the dragon.”_

_I look at him again. “None of the nightmares have stopped, though. I thought it was supposed to stop.”_

_He reaches over and refills my chalice, then his. His hand isn’t as steady as it was a moment ago. I think this is the first time Pádraig’s been drunk since he saved us from the Deep Roads. “She forbade me from joining her,” he says. “She said if I wished to have her, then to think of her as I protect you. That is how I keep her with me.” As Pádraig raises his hand to drink, I only now notice a ring on his finger. Twisted rosewood, so polished it almost breathes._

_Morrigan used to wear that ring, said Flemeth used to track her with it. Morrigan altered it after the Deep Roads, ensuring she could not be found._

_Now Pádraig wears it._

_How have I not seen it before?_

“ **That** _is why I serve the Crown,” he continues. “I respect the King. He is a caliber Grey Warden, and I believe Alistair is a_ **fantastic** _King. But I serve the King_ **because** _I serve the Queen.” Pádraig pauses, drifting his gaze away. “I told myself: At_ **least** _there was someone who understands. But you’re right. It hasn’t made anything easier.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	5. No Turning Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Vigil's Keep overrun with Darkspawn anchors in the bitter, heavy truth of becoming a Grey Warden: there is no turning back. In order to live away from darkspawn, Tess has no choice but to embrace her Taint and be Commander of the Grey _first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Apartment Music Stereo 6 (Junkie XL Bells & Whistles), Mass Effect 3 Citadel DLC](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GsgYAR6le5k)  
> Approaching the Keep: [And We Run, by Within Temptation ft Xzibit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awvqIi427_A)  
> Shrieks: [Champion, by Fallout Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJJpRl2cTJc)  
> Warden Rowland: [Bringer of Light, by Damnation Angels (ft PelleK)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rmr4n0kKIck)  
> Meeting the Templars: [Arise - E.S. Posthumus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNvTSlGyKUs)  
> Morrigan and baby: [I Gave You All, by Mumford & Sons](https://youtu.be/00dcKqc5H-A)

In person, the First Warden approved rebuilding the Order in Ferelden. When he returned to Weisshaupt, he rescinded his word in a bitter letter to Orlais' Warden-Commander. No official help from Orlais or Weisshaupt meant no official resources. No Joining potion recipe meant _no recruiting in Ferelden._

But _official help_ did not concern the King and Queen, nor helped much during the Blight. Rebuilding the Grey Wardens on their own authority posed no challenge. The Orlesian Wardens, still determined to help their Fereldan brotherhood, worked with King Alistair and Queen Tesslyn in spite of Weisshaupt. Empress Celene acted as envoy, exercising her freedom to write Queen Tesslyn without excuse. The united countries rebuilt Ferelden’s Order anyway, without the First Warden’s blessing.

Only two of Alistair and Tesslyn’s Blight party remained after this long: Zevran, elf and former assassin for the infamous Antivan Crows, and Oghren, dwarf and former Warrior caste. While _official assets_ to the Ferelden monarchs, they were not bound by restriction of duty as other soldiers in the King’s army. Their work began after the First Warden’s visit, venturing on their own, recruiting potential Wardens while traveling to Orlais and back. On official advice from Empress Celene, until the First Warden approved transporting the Joining potion, the capable recruits rebuilt with dry resources from fallen towns. When spring came, merchants had means and reason to expand trade, and inland business bloomed. _Both countries prospered._ The more they prospered, the more power they held; prospering _together_ only strengthened them more.

It was Alistair’s exact reason for rebuilding in the first place. He also knew rising in wealth _together_ meant the world would see their unified power. In time, even Tevinter and the Qunari would think twice about invading.

Two years later, the First Warden in Weisshaupt _finally_ approved rebuilding the Wardens in Ferelden. Spring of Nine: Thirty-Four Dragon found Queen Tesslyn on horseback towards Vigil’s Keep. The _new_ Grey Warden headquarters lay ready to welcome her Warden-Commander.

 

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_Bloody crusty Warden-Commander. Of all the things my husband’s gotten me into! Ooh that man!_

_I thought this was a joke! The first time he said it, he was laughing. Then for the Landsmeet, I thought he said it to_ **protect** _me, like, ‘Look, noble bastards, my wife is Commander of the Grey, you can’t touch her.’ I_ **know Riordan** _only promoted me because he intended for me to_ **die** _with the Archdemon._

 _But Alistair’s fucking serious?? He’s really making me_ **be** _Warden-Commander? I have to go and play nanny to a bunch of men whining over bad dreams while_ **he** _gets to stay home and sleep in our bed?? I don’t always want to play Queen, but I don’t know how to train people into fearsome warriors. I am a daughter and a second child, my_ **brother** _was the one trained to train men. I was trained for... for being Queen. But at least I know_ **how** _to be Queen. I still don’t know how to be a regular Grey Warden! What the grimy sod am I going to do as_ **Commander?**

_OOHHH I will pay my husband back for this!_

_The kitchen maids interrupt their chopping and pounding to curtsy. “Your Majesty,” their varied octaves ring in unison._

_I look around. Roasts dressing, dough on another table, the scullery boy scrubs pots from_ _breakfast in the partial room along the far wall. A cat and a small hound finish off scraps like they don't eat all day._ _Eggs, milk, lard. Another young maid peels the rind off cheese wheels to oil them again. Dried herbs wait by the dough._

 _“My husband will ride with me to Vigil’s Keep, but he will return shortly,” I remind them. “I expect to be there longer, perhaps months,” though I plan to return every other week. Not a chance I’ll stay there for months when home is only two days away! “Fatten him up.” I look from eye to eye. “I want him plump when I come home.”_ _I don’t mean stuff him like a dinner hog. I happen to like when his waist goes a little soft. Alistair never forgets to train, though; he prefers to stay bulky. He’s conscious about his waist, but I love it. I love his body best when he keeps a little fat on his muscles. He's quite adorable when he's plump. “Keep the ale stores up, lots of fried fat.” This is not the first time I’ve asked them this, and they know why I ask. I_ **_love_ ** _how he feels on top of me when he’s heavy._ _This time, with me gone, Alistair will spend more nights drunks with the men, and the more he drinks, the less he’ll pay attention to what he eats - or he’ll ask for foods I don’t allow in the palace._

_Instead of the normal agreeing and curtsies, our kitchen maids giggle with a look of knowing. My brows drop._

_They know something I don’t._

_“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Majesty,” says Eara; a woman past her prime but devoted to the royal family. She began cooking here when Cailan was seven. She’s one of those women my father said belongs in a kitchen: she has a talent for flavors and cooks everything perfect even if she’s never made it before. “Your husband came in here not two days ago sayin’ the same thing about you.” Her dark eyes twinkle. “He’s sendin’ Cauley with you fer the same reason.” The young scullery maid Cauley turns her head with a snap and glances from the side with wide eyes._

_A heavy breath escapes under a deeper frown. He beat me to it! My sodding husband beat me to it!_

_Oohhh that man!_

_A sound like a horse’s snort comes out. I pick up my chainmail tail and stomp to the door. “Triple his drink, then. Use the big mugs.”_

_Zevran and Pádraig accompany us to Rendon Howe’s old home. Though they say they will stay to help train the new Warden recruits, I know better. They will stay to nanny me. After all this time, everyone still trusts me to need stitches every day on my own. I roll my eyes at masculine security ideals. I doubt it would matter_ **how** _many times I killed an Archdemon with_ **daggers,** _they’d still worry I’ll trip over my own gown._

 _My long tail of chainmail clanks as I climb my horse; the compromise for the Queen needing to wear pants. My Grey Warden tabard hides the long, noisy chainmail skirt that only covers my backside. It’s gaudy but light, and_ **almost** _satisfies Pádraig’s urge for me to wear proper armor on the road. He’s so damn particular about my safety it’s annoying._

 _Alistair trots ahead with Pádraig and Zevran, discussing something about the two switching posts every other week so one is always with each of us. Po and three other mabari run alongside our horses. My hound has already made it clear he’ll go where he pleases, and right now, he’s_ **escorting** _me to Vigil’s Keep._

 _Vigil’s Keep. The former home of the Howe family. My insides still knot up when I think of him._ _I grew up calling the man Uncle up till the night he murdered my family._ **Why** _does Alistair think this is the_ **best** _place for me to raise little Grey Wardens? There’s still a Howe heir out there, two of them. The youngest, Thomas, died to the darkspawn - as my brother wished - but what if Nathaniel or Delilah decide to come home? Nathaniel’s been gone eleven years. He may not even know his family is either dead or moved away._ **That** _would be fun to explain…_

 _I look at the woman some paces over. Mhairi. Young thing, not seventeen, yet older than others her age. She is the last of the new Warden recruits Pádraig hand-picked._ _The rest of them rode ahead weeks ago to welcome the_ **official** _Orlesian Wardens. We_ _received word all but two survived the Joining. If Mhairi survives, she’ll be my sixth recruit to train._

 **Mine. Six. Train.** _Oy._

_That sodding husband of mine._

_Mhairi is a quiet one. She does not joke, nor have I seen a smile or even curiosity. She takes her duty as a soldier_ **very** _serious. Pádraig is most proud of this recruit. He spent the past month training her himself. This Mhairi has an inspiring record during the battle in Denerim against the Darkspawn. The sergeant to Third Regiment of Pádraig’s army recognized Mhairi’s skill. Stationed outside the bailey, this young thing had skill with a shield well before Pádraig trained her. Honor-driven, refused to leave her shield-siblings alone. The report told how she rallied fatigued soldiers and gave reason to endure when all seemed lost, by not giving up herself. An arrow in her shoulder, bleeding from the other arm, another arrow in her thigh, yet she held her ground so mages could finish repairing the bailey. She felled an ogre and two emissaries by herself while bleeding out at three places to defend her city. Her efforts and cries of determination inspired tired, whining men twice her size to get off their asses and regain their honor. Mhairi is the reason the bailey still stands. She is why Denerim did not crumble when Alistair and I were atop Fort Drakon._

_Now, she has not said a word aside from short, direct acknowledgement to Pádraig. I am curious about her._

_“Ser Mhairi.” I guide Plum, my storm-cloud gray Anderfels steed named for his love of plums, in line with Mhairi’s horse. The girl looks surprised I’m speaking to her. “You’ve been a commendable soldier on our journey so far. But you are still a woman. Are you comfortable?”_

_“I- comfortable?” As if it’s the last thing she expected to hear. “Y-yes, Your Majesty.”_

_“No formalities, please. We’re about to be Wardens together,” I remind her._

_She hesitates. “No - I mean yes. Yes, Commander, I am well.”_

_I sigh and roll my eyes. Pádraig’s already looking back with a playful smile when I glare at him. He is so very amused ensuring people address me by my station. And now I have_ **two** _stations; it must feel like Satinalia for him._

_I need to get vengeance on him, too. Sodding little shit._

_“I hear you bested men twice your size with your bare hands during the tournaments?” I ask Mhairi._ _Pádraig held tournaments over the course of the past two years;_ _that was where he tested for recruits. According to Pádraig, Mhairi went in barefoot, no weapons, wearing only chainmail for armor, and she bloodied all her opponents. I expect Pádraig wants a daughter like her someday._

_“I- yes, Commander.”_

_“Without armor, though? Risky.”_

_She looks at me like she’s worried she’ll say the wrong thing. “I was determined, Your Maj- Commander. Commander?” She’s unsure what to call me. I’m sure Pádraig is laughing up a storm inside. “My armor and weapons were awaiting repair. I did not wish to miss my chance.”_

_“You_ **wanted** _to be a Grey Warden, then?”_

_“Very much so, Commander.”_

_“May I ask why? It’s a dangerous occupation.”_

_“And you and His Majesty showed the world how important Grey Wardens are, Commander.”_

_Commander. Ugh. I hate that word already. Fucking Pádraig. And my husband too. I may slip purgatives into their wine tonight._

_“You’ve scars already. You may get more,” I warn. No one had warned me. I hate looking at mine. The only mirrors in the palace are with Alistair’s wardrobe. I rely on my husband, Zevran, Pádraig, and the nannies Teagan sent for my reflection._

**“You** _have scars.” She leans away in caution when my eyes fly to hers. “What… I mean is… l-look at what you’ve done, Com- Your Majesty._ **Commander,** ” _Mhairi corrects herself. She rushes to explain:_ _“You saved the Dalish, you found Andraste’s Ashes, you -_ **you killed** _an_ **Archdemon** _after braving the Deep Roads for almost a year. You found_ **two** _dwarven Paragons_ **just** _to gain their support for the war. Are your scars not proof you’ve done extraordinary things, Commander? You are an example to all. I should be ashamed to sit as a house wife churning butter when you are proof even a little initiative changes so many fates. You have saved all our lives. I hope to have_ **half** _as many scars by the time old age takes me.” Eager and canonizing. Mhairi has heard the stories Alistair encourages._

_My husband grins alongside Pádraig when I glare ahead._

_Maker, I hate stuff like this. I am not a sodding hero. I don’t want to be revered. I don’t even like being called Your Majesty._

_I open my mouth to tell her not to believe everything she hears, but Pádraig’s expression stops me. A trace silent plea not to give the girl’s hopes up. Alistair has a similar look on his face; he wants everyone to revere me. Ugh. He got what he wanted for sure._

_“Just…” I sigh again. “Try not to head into anymore fights without armor and weapons.” Pádraig turns his head to hide a grin. “Getting this many scars hurts enough as it is.” I force a smile._

_“Of course, Your- Commander. I mean, it_ **did** _hurt, but it was also like Andraste blessed me. It made me want to keep going, to_ **end** _those monsters so they couldn’t do the same to anyone else.”_

 _And_ **that** _is why Pádraig is so fond of the girl. She’s just like Alistair_ **used** _to be. Mhairi is Alistair before he hardened the last of his heart. She is Pádraig’s last glimpse at the brother he once had in my husband, before that dark ritual took the last of Alistair’s innocence._

 **Our** _innocence._

_I wonder if Alistair sees Mhairi like Pádraig does?_

_Something is wrong. Rain dashes down upon us, but fires light the distance. We postponed camp for the night because we were so close, but now I know the reason. Like all our other adventures, the Maker wanted us here_ **now** , _not tomorrow._

_Alistair calls after me as I speed up. Plum tenses with me and blows, but I can’t stop to let him ease into this. Something is wrong with Vigil’s Keep. I should not see so many flames this far away._

_Plum was in the Deep Roads with us. He has been in the thick of darkspawn muck, but he is not as stout-hearted now as he seemed back then. Nightmares plagued him as well, I’ve seen it. He senses them now as soon as my Taint swarms._

_No no no_ _! Maker, say this is not happening!_ **Please** _say I am mistaken._

_Po takes two steps ahead of us before growling and charging off. I can’t call after my dog. I can’t move._

_No no, please! No! It was supposed to end._

_“Tess?” Alistair freezes as he falls in line beside me. Our eyes meet. I see my own fear all over his face. It was supposed to end! This isn’t supposed to happen. We shouldn’t need to face Darkspawn again!_

_There really is no turning back, is there? The Joining is nothing but a prolonged death sentence with an unending nightmare. There is no leaving the Grey Wardens._

_I don’t want to be Commander. I just want to go home. I’ll be Queen_ **forever,** _just no more darkspawn. Please, Maker? I nudge Plum anyway. If I don’t stop this, they’ll only spill out after me._

_I don’t even know how it happened. All I remember is Plum’s legs moving the wrong way under us. The ground met me with the force of my giant steed at full run, where a large hand scooped me up like a twig. The world spun around me as I dangled upside down, grip so tight I could not breathe. I woke to smelling salts to find my middle sore and Zevran sewing me up._

_“Apparently I need to remind you, you are not fabric,” Zevran says. He has sewn me up more times than I can count; I look like a patchwork rag doll. He tugs on string at my belly and tears spring before I can even think to hide them. Without warning, he pours something that burns. Sandal’s fucking Quick Heal potion; we all learned to make it during the Blight. Zevran laughs at the curse in my scream. If he had warned me, I’d not let him use it._

_“You’re lucky, ye ken.” Pádraig._

_“Say that to my face.” It doesn’t sound as intimidating as I wanted it. With a chuckle, Pádraig leans into view above me. His dark curls drip all around him._

_“You’re lucky,” he repeats with a grin._

_“I sodding hate you.” Sitting up hurts like a rabid bitch. “I hate Darkspawn. I hate the sodding Wardens. I quit. I quit, I quit, I quit, I fucking quit.”_

_“Maybe next time you won’t fly your horse into an ogre,” Pádraig teases me._

_“I didn’t fly my horse.”_

_“You flew your horse.” Zevran nods._

_“Where is Plum?”_

_“Fine. Alive,” Pádraig clarifies. “A bandaged leg. Good thing he’ll be resting here awhile.”_

_My husband’s boots come into view, muddy and splattered with dark blood. Rain pelts down but doesn’t clean a thing. Alistair pulls me to my feet and I collapse against him. A sigh sinks his chest as he cradles me. “What have I told you about ogres, Tess?” he jokes so soft and sweet it’s not close to funny._

_“I quit,” I tell him. “Again. I’m pretty sure I quit right after I Joined. I_ **distinctly** _remember quitting then.”_

_My husband’s lips press onto my head. “Yes, and then you took lyrium from a mage and went right back to Warden-ing,” he reminds me._

_“I’m serious this time.”_

_“Where did they come from?” Mhairi joins us, wiping her sword before sheathing it. “You_ **ended** _the Blight. Why are darkspawn here?”_

_“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, “ I qui-”_

**“Kill!** _Kill them. Yes, I want to also!_ **Great** _idea, Your Majesty!” Pádraig says over my weak thoughts. Keep Mhairi inspired; of course._

 _I glare at him. “No, Pádraig. I want to go home. The Blight is over. I was_ **not** _supposed to see Darkspawn again.” I try to leave, but Alistair doesn’t release me._

_“Tess, if we don’t stop this, they’ll just seep out into the land. We can learn why later,” my husband says._

_“What about the Orlesian Wardens? Where are_ **they?** _Why didn’t_ **they** _stop this? Or the other recruits?” I ask. Alistair shares a troubled glance with Pádraig; they already thought the same._

_“Perhaps they were taken by surprise, Commander?” Mhairi guesses._

_“Darkspawn do not take Grey Wardens by surprise. You’ll find that out soon enough.”_

_Zevran stares toward the Keep. “Unless Orlais sent recruits and not actual Wardens?” He looks at my husband and me with concern that tells he feels his gut is right._

_A growl rumbles up from my throat. “Then Orlais will soon be Warden-Commander-less. And then I’ll poison the First Warden and claim the Anderfels for Ferelden. Just think of all the new horses, Pádraig.”_

_“Cailan would have liked that,” Alistair is all too jovial about this idea. I glare at him while I step back. My husband grins for me; he knows that’s enough to deter me from ever conquering the Anderfels. “Yes, if we find baby gryphons you can have them all.”_

_“A tempting compromise when_ **you’ll** _be sitting comfy on your throne while your_ **Warden-Commander** _does all the hard work. In that case,_ **you’re** _re-instated, too,_ **husband.”**

 _Alistair laughs, but his face reads clear: he feels I’m taking my pain and irritation out on him. “Are you_ **really** _upset, Tess? I didn’t_ **plan** _this. This was supposed to be_ **easy:** _come here, train, come back home._ **A few weeks,** _that was all.”_

 _“It was_ **your** _idea to come back here and make_ **me** _Warden-Commander.” He couldn’t have made an Orlesian Warden the Commander? And set the new outpost in the Wilds out of our jurisdiction?_

 **“Tess.”** _Now I_ **have** _wounded my husband. But it’s true. Had he not insisted we return_ **nor** _made me Commander of the Grey, I would_ **not** _have been in the position to rush to end Darkspawn that_ **shouldn’t** _be at this Keep in the_ **first** _place! The Wardens do_ **not** _need to rebuild here! Ferelden_ **has** _two Wardens who managed without any others_ **or** _headquarters the entire damn Blight. And we’ll be long dead by the time Wardens are needed for the next Blight. Darkspawn no longer concern us._

 _“No, you’re right. What is_ **another scar** _on_ **my** _body? How many ogres have any of_ **you** _survived?” I challenge as I walk away. No matter what happens, I don’t have a choice to stay at Vigil’s Keep tonight._

_“Two!” Mhairi speaks up._

_“That’s already more than most people here,” I call over my shoulder._

_Alistair calls after me again. But more Darkspawn interfere before I can respond or he can catch up._

_Of course they do._

_I am not lucky enough to avoid Darkspawn._

_I am_ **Queen.** _I accepted this role to stay with my husband so I could_ **forget** _Grey Warden crap. None of_ **this now** _should happen to_ **me.** _A sinking feeling says darkspawn might not be here at all, now, if Alistair hadn’t made me Commander in the first place._

_I used to visit Vigil’s Keep often as a child until Arlessa Eliane Howe died. After that, Rendon always visited us, the favored son Thomas Howe trailing at his heels. Had Rendon not murdered my family, I would mourn the devastation here. Bodies, darkspawn, fire fire and more fire. I’m surprised the walls still stand._

_What my father would say of this place now..._

_And whoever the void that mad laughing dwarf blowing up darkspawn is, I could have used him and his explosives before! Like the night Rendon attacked my home, and at Ostagar when Loghain fled. And in Redcliffe with the undead, also Haven before Alistair’s leg got hacked. Fire bombs would have made the world of difference in the Deep Roads; should have stuck some to that Broodmother’s tentacles. I dread, though, why the Orlesian Wardens brought a crazy dwarf who cackles at explosions. Seems I need to lecture them on Straw-filled Wooden Rooftops and Fire; Orlesians don’t worry about such things._

_Aaaand there’s a mage. How did I forget Orlais secretly thinks magic is sexy? Apostasy, rather, and from the dead Templars around him on the stone floor, this mage is one. Lovely. This is_ **just** _what I need now. Why do I get the feeling the Orlesian Wardens_ **specifically** _asked for an apostate? The last one I found deterred me from trust again. It took me_ **two months** _before I could make love to my husband without thinking of her._ **Two sodding forsaken months.**

 _The mage here at Vigil’s Keep stares at us and shrugs. A gurgling, choking hurlock burns to death behind him, but the mage seems more surprised to see_ **us** _than the hideousness of darkspawn. He shakes last wisps of flame from his fingers, cautious of my glance to the dead Templars. “It wasn’t me.”_

_My face falls flat. “Try again.” We ran in here expecting to save an innocent, not halt face-to-face with a maleficar. From the dead bodies surrounding him, Darkspawn and Templars alike, this mage appears powerful._

_“Oh, the Templars? No, the darkspawn got them! Well, if I’m honest, I’d hoped they’d wipe each other out.” He shrugs again. “But I suppose I’m not that lucky.”_

_“What are you doing here?” Alistair asks. He steps a foot ahead of me,_ **Starfang** _ready at his side._

_The mage sighs, letting his shoulders fall. “I was caught,” he admits without a single threat needed. The pout seems practiced. “The Templars stopped here to rest and resupply. As you can see, that didn’t go too well.”_

_“Another apostate,” my husband mutters. “Just perfect.”_

_“At least_ **this** _one can’t get_ **pregnant,”** _I snort. I feel sets of eyes fall on me._

_“Ouch,” Zevran breaks the uncomfortable silence._

_Alistair sighs and sheaths his sword, refusing to look at me. We don’t talk about Morrigan._ _I don't let_ **_Pádraig_ ** _speak of her anymore. Alistair_ _may have thought I’d forgotten about her after two years. Like he conveniently forgets he fucked her._

 **“That** _sounds like a fun story!” the apostate grins. Another glare wipes his smile away. “Right… Well... I’m Anders-”_

 _“That’s cute. And_ **I’m** _Fereldan,” I reply._

 _“What my wife_ **means** _is she’s the_ **Queen** _of Ferelden.” Alistair crosses his arms over his chest._

 _“Ah. So that makes_ **you** _the_ **King.** _Your Majesties.” The Anders apostate dips in a flamboyant bow. “Well done at the Circle;_ **and** _with the Archdemon, I might add. I almost regret I wasn’t around for either.”_

 _“Apostates don’t sit well with us. Give me one reason not to execute you right here and now,” says my husband the King. Something tells me this is his way of trying to make up for the Morrigan_ **incident.** _I know he wishes he’d have killed her when we first met her._

_“I happen to be an excellent healer,” the Anders boy informs._

_“You don’t say.” Zevran glares with us._

_“We’ve already got one of those,” I tell the mage._

_“My_ **specialty** _is in healing, meaning I_ **excel** _in it, and I_ **don’t** _need a needle and thread. Though even I admit they come in handy once in awhile.” A short fake smile, then a sigh and a roll of his eyes when he realizes his_ **specialty** _failed to impress us. “When I’m not escaping the Tower, I’m one of the_ **best** _healers. If I didn’t_ **leave** _so often, I’d have my own pupils. I enjoy helping people in need, what can I say? I_ **pride** _myself in it.” Anders insists._ **“And** _my hair, and my clothes. Too bad the Chantry doesn’t allow for Circle fashion shows.”_

_“The last apostate who bartered for her life betrayed us,” I warned him._

_“So let me prove I’m not whoever-she-is…_ **then…** _I suppose you can do what you want with me, seeing as my wish to escape the Templars… led me right to the King and Queen…”_

_“Lucky for you the Queen gives second chances,” Zevran nods._

_“Or more,” Alistair adds._

_And now I feel guilty. My husband is right. I..._ **am** _taking my pain and frustration out on him._

 _I don’t mean to. This all fell on me so quick. I didn’t even see the_ **ogre** _before it had me._

_I was foolish to think being a Warden stopped with the Archdemon’s death._

_I glance at the mage as I step up to examine the Templars. Impact wounds; swords, a large axe, arrows. The Anders mage is devoid of human blood and blades. A couple stray black splotches. Noises down the other hall catch my ears, and I wonder how we would have found this Anders if we’d not come this way._

_“Tesslyn,” Zevran warns with a hint of impatience. He’s right, also. We don’t have time to judge this mage right now._

_I look the mage up and down again. “Stick to healing, but if you must help fight, no fire, and absolutely_ **no** _blood magic.”_

_“Really? You’re not going to kill me?” Even more surprised than seeing us._

_“Not unless you give me reason to.”_

_Alistair walks past us, pausing to put his lips to my head. “Can you work barriers, mage?”_

_“What mage can’t? It’s elementary training.” Anders shrugs._

_Mhairi frowns. “You speak to the_ **King,** _ser mage. Not some mercenary.”_

_“Who does that remind me of?” I lick a tooth and find Pádraig’s eye. My General flashes me a closed-mouth grin. I now suspect he made her ride with us to ensure she made the journey._

_“Right, right, of course. King Alistair, isn’t it? Yes, I can form barriers,” Anders doesn’t seem to understand - or is tired of - addressing higher ranks._

_“Good. Keep all magic off my wife,” Alistair orders. With his head he motions for me to follow._

_“Magic?” Anders laughs. “Wait. You’re not saying_ **darkspawn** _use magic.” He catches up._ **“Are** _you?”_

_Educating this apostate comes quicker than any of us want. Not a step into the next hall and I cringe at the hurlock mage ahead. Can I ever say enough how much I hate hate hate magic?_

_Alistair charges with our heavy hitters, Po and Zevran racing to hit first. Pádraig stays back with Mhairi, Eirik, Benneit, and Diarmad of my guard as genlock rogues appear from nowhere in clouds of dust. The Blight Mage moves and my arrow strikes his shoulder instead, drawing his eyes straight to me._ **Shit.** _His arms and staff raise for another hex; multiple voices shout for Anders to shield me. None of us forget what killing the Archdemon did to me. Daily Templar training with Alistair and my guard prevents accidental flames, but there is no magic in the palace for me to thwart absorbing. None of us know if Templar discipline is enough against actual magic._

_Waiting behind Anders’ shimmery barrier is almost as bad as absorbing spells. It blurs everything in like raw crystalline lyrium. I can’t see what’s happening, and cries and grunts of battle build up anxiety. The unmistakable sound of Shrieks makes me scream for my husband. One stops short only for another to sound screech, sometimes many at once._

_This can’t be! Shrieks only came out in the Deep Roads when other darkspawn were overwhelmed. But now they’re_ **everywhere!** _How is this possible? The surface is supposed to be safe now! It’s as if the Blight never ended!_

 _A horrifying thought wobbles my knees: What if the Archdemon came back? What if Morrigan’s…_ **ritual** _is here?_

 _Maker, what did we_ **do?**

_I still dream of Shrieks stabbing me in the Deep Roads. The thought of Morrigan’s demon spawn here adds to that fear in immeasurable magnitude. It commanded those monsters to attack, to stab me. It has to be commanding them now! There’s no other explanation. And now its returned for me, for vengeance! I clutch the corridor wall, heart thumping so hard it hurts. No choice now but stay behind the barrier while I listen to my husband fight monsters that don’t need to work to hurt us._

_The Anders mage stares at me, asking over and over_ **what is on the other side** _of his barrier. His face lines with deeper worry the longer I don’t answer. He says he won’t be able to hold it up much longer._

_We’re doomed. We’re doomed we’re doomed we’re doomed we’re doomed we’re doomed._

_I can only shake my head and bite my glove._

_One more solid reason to turn around and head straight home. I can’t do this. I can’t be a Warden anymore. I never could, but_ **now,** _after I’ve_ **lived** _it, I can’t suffer it all again._

 _Why didn’t Duncan tell me it would never end? Why didn’t_ **anyone** _tell me?_

_The barrier drops with a glittering shimmer. The Anders mage presses against the wall to catch his breath. The fright in his eyes reveals depleted mana is not his only cause for breathlessness._

_A terrifying cry rips through the air, startling the mage and me. Mhairi’s shield smashes through a gruesome head straight to the floor; a fierce gash for blunt wood._ _Sword nowhere in sight, she pounces and tackles the last darkspawn. A grinding batter until the face of her shield cracks on stone._ _Anders peers around me in shock and caution. Now I know the full reason Pádraig chose her: Mhairi is a force like an entire regiment. A loyal, revering, one-woman army._

_Caught in the moment, Mhairi whirls on movement beyond, shield already prepared to charge. Alistair holds up his hands as he descends the steps._

_“Easy, girl,” as if she’s a mabari. His eyes say he wishes he brought kaddis*. She even looks like a hound distinguishing master from foe._

_My husband’s name comes out with tears. I stumble past the mage and Mhairi the brute war bitch and fall into my husband’s arms. One look at me and his whole face pouts, troubled for me. I can’t understand the words jumbling from my mouth, but he doesn’t need to ask. Alistair’s there through every nightmare, sometimes unable to convince me I’ve only dreamed. Even worse are the nightmares where he is stabbed in my place and I watch him ripped apart before my eyes. Until now, that was only a bad dream. But with the Darkspawn back in our lives,_ **it could actually happen.** _Maker have mercy, please, I can’t handle this!_

_Pádraig and half my guard move on, letting me cling to my husband. They refuse to question lack of formal ceremony with us, and I am always grateful. Times like this, I can’t breathe without Alistair._

_I want to go home. Please please please can we go home now? I’ll ride all night in the rain, I don’t care how cold or ill I become._

_“Someone care to throw me a bone, here?” Anders asks. Alistair’s head moves above mine._

_“You will need to take that up with the Queen’s mabari,” Zevran responds without pause._

_“Jokes, right. Elves in the Circle don’t have those,” Anders retorts. “I_ **mean:** _those_ **shrieking** _things with_ **swords** _coming out of their hands. That is one_ **sinister** _noise.”_

_“They are called Shrieks,” Zevran informs him. “If you hear one, keep moving. If you stop, you’re as good as dead.”_

_“And the ones that do magic? How do darkspawn even_ **do** _magic? You need a connection to the Fade for that. Does that mean darkspawn dream?_ **They** _help shape the Fade?” Anders has too many questions. Questions I’m supposed to answer. Questions I will be happy never addressing the rest of my life._

_The familiar clank of Pádraig’s armored footsteps returns, and Alistair looks over the other way. “Alistair, Tesslyn.” I wipe my face before lifting my head. “We’ve got company.”_

_“What?” What the fuck now?? Maker,_ **what** _did I do to deserve this?? Haven’t I already paid for all my wrongs?_

_We don’t even make it to the other room when a belch echoes off the walls._

**Oghren.** _Oh my holy ---_

_“Pádraig!” I hiss through my teeth. He giggles and dodges the back of my hand. Fucking card face of a damned Qunari._

_“Look who finally shows up!” Oghren grins at Alistair and me. Leaning against a support column splattered with dark blood and dead darkspawn around the room, our drunk dwarf follows us with his eyes. “A little late, aren’t you?”_

_“What are_ **you** _doing here?” Alistair asked. “Didn’t I send you to Jader?”_

 _“Ah, yeah.” Oghren pauses to suck on his flask. “I stopped by the ol’ homestead on the way back.” He pauses and darts his eyes. “Er,_ **Branka** _isn’t with you, is she?” Only Oghren worries his ex-wife will eavesdrop when he’s talking about his new flame._

_“No. She’s still with Shale and Wynne.”_

_“Oh, good. Anyway, I stopped by the ol’ homestead, and after… you know, this and that, I got to thinkin’, maybe it’s time I try my hand at that Warden stuff.”_

_“This and that?” Alistair echos with a grimace. “I don’t want to know, Oghren.”_

_“You fought with Felsi again, didn’t you?” Zevran eyes our dwarf._

_“I never said that! Nosy sodding elf,” Oghren grumbles._

_“Why does everyone want to be a Warden so bad?” I ask. “You were_ **with** _us even.” I stare at Oghren. Alistair releases me to talk to Pádraig and Domhnall. “You_ **know** _how bad it gets.”_

_“Don’t let him fool you,” Zevran shakes his head at me with a wink. “He fought with his lady dwarf. He always come back when they fight.”_

_“You’re lucky darkspawn need my axe more than you,” Oghren growls._

_“I missed you too, old friend.”_

_“It’s only been three sodding months since I last saw you!”_

_“True, but when your sidekick is a dwarf, what can you do?” Zevran shrugs._ **“Everything** _is long compared to you.”_

_“Both of you! Not now. Please. I’m… already not handling this situation well.” I hold my palms toward them._

_“That was going to be my_ **second** _question, but_ **hubby** _here is in one piece and the dog’s already marked every corner in the room.” Oghren gestures around._

_“Commander, we need to press on. There may be more Wardens about.” Mhairi steps up beside me._

_“None that I’ve seen. But what do I know? I’m just a drunken dwarf.”_ _Oghren steps off from the post and takes a swig of his flask before drawing his battleaxe._

_“Took you this long to figure that out?” Anders quips. “Dwarven awareness is enviable.”_

_Oghren frowns. “Another mage, eh?” He, also, was told of Morrigan and her unholy ritual; better for others who knew her to know, as Pádraig said, in case the worst happens. “Sure this is a good idea?” He looks at me and Alistair._

_“I haven’t done anything to_ **them!”** _Anders protests._

_“Yet,” Oghren adds for him._

_Anders sighs in disgust. “Humans, elves, and Qunari fear mages. Why shouldn’t dwarves? And_ **why** _am I surprised?”_

_“Not now, children.” Alistair adjusts his shield. “Come on. We can’t let them leave. You know the drill, Oghren.”_

_“Yep.” Our dwarf belches; I smell his fumes from here. At least some things never change. “Mages first, then darkspawn.”_

_“I am_ **now** _reassured about meeting you all,” Anders’ voice is airy despite the sarcasm._ _I'm grateful he doesn't need threatening to follow. One less thing to deal with tonight._

_No matter where or what we have endured, there was always one moment that made me tick. One moment that dug deep inside me and barbed my heart, humbling me from within. A single moment that made me feel smaller than a mouse yet strong as ten men. Here now at Vigil’s Keep is no different._

_Mhairi’s old companion from my husband’s army. I don’t catch his name, I only see the body on the floor. Crumpled, holding a wound at his middle, red trickling through armored fingers and puddling on the floor. Gasping, trying to report - to me - where all his fellow Wardens went. Delirious, says darkspawn spoke; the Taint has already taken him hard. Can’t speak full words without blood spilling up. I try to tell him I’m sorry. Though I don’t want to be here, we’d have arrived sooner had we known._

_He doesn’t make it through my apology. The fresh Warden moves his head, each turn of his eyes causing another jerk. Already cloudy orbs find my gaze and lock. “Com-Command-der. I wish-ish- I could ha-ave fought alongs-s-s-side…” Last breath leaves. His eyes stay on mine for a moment when his head rolls against the cobblestone wall. Then stillness._

_My own boot kicks me inside my head. I locked up earlier. Heard Shrieks and froze. I stalled at the gates to bitch and blame my husband._

**My** _actions killed this man. He would still live if I’d not tarried ten minutes ago in my husband’s arms. If I’d not spent the last two years trying to forget what being a Warden meant. And his dying words were wishing he’d been able to fight alongside me._

_I don’t even know him and my eyes are blurring._

_Grey Wardens don’t have luxuries the rest of the world has. I do not have luxuries of a Queen, and I_ **am** _the Queen. At the palace, if I choose not to rush to an appointment, my audience waits for me with smiles and praise regardless. But that is not an option outside my home. I will_ **always** _be a Grey Warden. I will_ **never** _have luxury. Taking breaks to breathe means letting other Wardens die._

_I cannot afford comfort, even if I desert my Order forever._

_There is no turning back._

_Alistair’s staring when I meet his eyes. He sees it in me, my understanding. I have to finish this now. I need to train someone to take my place. Otherwise I will never be free to live with my husband, and he will neglect his throne to stay with me. The country will fall if I abandon my duties as a Grey Warden._

_The dying Warden was right: a hurlock far more advanced than any Darkspawn I’ve seen - talking. Actual speech, not grunts or body language. It speaks of ‘ridding those unwilling to help.’_

_What the abominable fuck…?_

_Po at my side tips his head and whines: It speaks? What does this mean? Can I still kill it? I reach down and pat his large head; Wait, pup, I’ve never seen this before._

_Diction, control. Armor intricate and matching; planned. These things are not the primitive creatures Riordan insisted._

_Finally aware it’s observed, it stops ranting about the soldier on his knees and draws its eyes to me._ **Right** _to me. As if I barged through bleating for attention waving a large glowing arrow at myself._

 _“Forget that one,” it speaks guttural, enunciating each syllable. Its eyes narrow, searching me up and down. Unnatural eyes lock on mine._ **“This** _is the one he is wanting. She is later than he is expecting, but no matter. We be needing her anyway.”_

 _“It_ **does** _talk!” Anders whispers amazed. Then: “Why do I get the feeling that’s not a good sign?”_

 **“I’m** _more interested why it wants my_ **wife.”** _Alistair grips his shield and sword tighter and advances anyway._

_The talking, matching hurlock advances as well. “And that one. Be taking the Wardens. The others we are not needing.”_

_I don’t sodding think so! I refuse to become one of those wretched broodmothers! I yank a soot bomb off Diarmad’s belt and stab the cork with an arrow, then loose it at darkspawn feet. I did not come all this way to be dragged underground!_

_Stronger than any hurlock I’ve fought, quicker, more cunning. Dodges my daggers. Doesn’t use his sword, only his shield. Not trying to hit me. Doesn’t want to fight_ **me.** _Fighting Oghren, fighting Pádraig, but not me. Not Alistair. It fights the others like it ought to keep them_ **away** _from me and my husband. The more I fight to reach it, the more I question if I should fight it at all._

 _At the moment I aim to drop my daggers and call off my guard,_ **Starfang** _and Mhairi’s shield crack through together. The talking hurlock loses what life it fought for to a broken neck and exposed insides._

 _I stare at my husband as he pulls Starfang out and wipes it clean. His concern matches my own: we aren’t sure we should kill these things anymore. Alistair told me of the genlock mage who helped hold barriers on Fort Drakon years ago. He said the genlock nodded, understood our sides needed to ally lest everyone die on that roof. Between that and this talking hurlock… not to mention the hurlock generals who sized us up and goaded us. Now that I recall, they had forges and camps in the Deep_ _Roads. Forging and setting camps take intelligence and dexterity,_ **_learned_ ** _skills. Kardol said darkspawn had died as if mourning that Archdemon corpse he found. Primitive beasts do not mourn. Creatures without a sense of community do not mourn. And now they talk?_

_There is something far deeper to Darkspawn than Grey Wardens want to let on._

_There may have been more to Urthemiel_ **befriending** _me than I thought. Was he trying to teach me about darkspawn all along?_

 _The man we saved is not a soldier. Seneschal Varel; we met him on the tour after the wedding. I did not see him a moment ago with the hurlock speaking. Alistair demands why the Wardens did nothing to stop the attack,_ _but Templars approaching the gates interrupt._ _With Anders the apostate in our party, Alistair and I can’t afford to ignore Chantry knights._

_This only proves as long as I live, I must war between my duties in both stations. I will never escape being a Grey Warden, but I am also Queen: I may have to betray my Order for the good of my country._

_The Templars recognize Anders from a distance. It makes me think Grey Wardens should isolate from civilization._ _Politics and religion do not mix with freedom; or the illusion of. The Templars claim they rode to investigate when they heard no word from the ones scheduled to stop here. Upon approach, the fires drove them. Glares at Anders as they say “Now it all makes sense.” They insist the fact this maleficar stands without his Templar escorts proves he is a dangerous murderer. They ignore and interrupt when Anders claims Darkspawn killed his escorts. The female Templar declares to hang him for his crimes._

 _Even Morrigan, as deep as she deceived me in the end, was not as dangerous as the Chantry proclaims apostates are. She left alone those who left her so._ _Not that we never met true maleficars, but compared to Morrigan, Anders is normal. He helps innocents, from what I’ve observed; told the ones here to run_ _to safety with each room we cleared. Soaking wet, facing horrors he’d never seen before, yet he followed orders without flaw as we fought tonight. So quick to respond it’s like he’d fought with us before. My own party - the men who witnessed the best and worst magic can offer, who watched it help and hinder me - look to me and Alistair now like they aren’t sure Anders is the criminal the Templars claim._

 _“What exactly is his crime?” My husband asks. He dislikes Templars because they are taught to fear magic, when magic fascinates_ **him.** _I agree magic is not - always - the_ _problem; the Blight taught me that. Greed and undisciplined freewill make it dangerous, not people. Even non-mages can use magic to torture._ _Looking at myself and what killing the Archdemon made me into, magic is only dangerous when unguided or misguided. My daggers do more damage than the magic I’ve absorbed._

 _My concern, however, is the Templars speak true. Maleficars, like other criminals, comply with authority when it benefits them. I worry just how disciplined this Anders mage is._ **Anyone** _who wants power enough seems gentle and honest when they need to be._ _Desiring_ **_more power_ ** _from magic turns even devout mages into abominations._ _The Circle exists for a reason: to prevent mages from abusing their power - including using it to escape. Templars are the reason magic_ **can** _be considered safe; as long as the mage doesn’t corrupt. Alistair, Zevran, and me saw our share of blood mages at Kinloch Hold three years ago. Magi were given great leniency to help at Ostagar, and they repaid Wardens and Templars by letting abominations and demons loose. Many of them looked like normal people; no visual signs of danger. The Circle Tower was a bloodbath. And then the Fade... I don’t want to repeat that._

_“Repeated escapes-” says another Templar, full helm echoing his voice._

_“And murder of his escorts!” the determined female Templar interjects._

_“I saw the bodies,” I tell her. “They were pierced by blades and arrows, not magic.”_

_“We cannot take a Warden’s word for this. You Wardens_ **pride** _in harboring blood mages. This man will_ **hang** _for his crimes and_ **you** _will not stand in the way, citizen!”_

 _Citizen my ass!_ **I** _killed the Blighted_ **Archdemon!**

 _I hold my ground with a frown._ **“This citizen** _is_ **your Queen!”** _My husband tries to hide a smirk of interest as the rigid female Templar frowns under her mistake. Alistair loves it when I scold people, from the day I met him._

_“That saves me a corrective warning,” Pádraig piques. He enjoys reminding everyone of my title._

_The female Templar avoids my gaze. “I apologize, Your Majesty. But this man is_ **dangerous.** _Chantry laws are_ **clear,** _he_ **must** _be punished for his crimes_ **by** _the Chantry. Does the Crown not still serve the Maker?”_

 _“You’re accusing him of something he didn’t do.” Maker, is it right to defend this mage? He admitted he stood by and watched darkspawn slaughter his Templars. It’s the same as Loghain_ **letting** _Cailan die at Ostagar that horrible night. Loghain was, by right of law, accused of murder for this exact reason._

_“King Alistair,” she implores my husband now, “Others should not suffer at this maleficar’s hands. Are you willing to risk that?”_

_Alistair studies her, then searches me. I can’t tell if he’s also recalling Loghain and Cailan. His eyes shift to Anders, deep in thought but conflict still in his frown. “If I send you back with these Templars, what will do you?” My husband is stalling so he can decide._

_Anders scoffs with a wave. “I’ll only escape again. I always do.”_

_“And we always catch you, murderer!” the Templar reminds._

_“That’s enough.” My husband lowers a hand for the Templars to stand down. “And if you were not confined to live in a tower, then what?” He asks Anders._

_Alistair is considering conscripting the mage. I’m as conflicted as his eyes look right now. With Zevran we have a skilled healer. But there are times magical healing takes priority, and Zevran may not always be with us. Or what if_ **Zevran** _needs healing?_

_But then -- what if this mage summons demons upon Amaranthine? Or worse? Can we trust him not to do that?_

_“What, like live a normal life and milk cows and not get kicked in the head every morning? I’d mind my own business, that’s what. Train mousers or build my own hut. Whatever normal people do.” Anders shrugs_ _with a gesture to the supporting quarters of the Keep. Buildings on fire the rain has only now put out._

 _“And if you found employment_ **outside** _the Circle, what then?” Alistair asks. “Would you flee again, or stay and prove yourself?”_

 _“Absolutely not! Your Majesty, he is_ **dangerous!”**

 _Alistair hushes the female Templar on verge of panic. “As are my wife and I,_ **and** _our party of elite warriors. My wife, after all, killed the Archdemon. You can’t get more dangerous than that. Yet she is_ **Queen,** _a shining example to all women, making the world a better place for everyone_ **including you.** ” _My husband the King turns back to the mage. “Anders?” he prompts._

 _“You mean if I had a job and wasn’t treated as a dangerous criminal every time I sneezed? What sort of question is that? But it’s no use trying to convince_ **them.** _They never stop,” Anders dismisses with a wave and a scoff._

_“You are not making the best case for yourself,” Zevran warns him._

**“Every** _time a Circle mage is granted freedom, blood magic and unholy experiments destroy innocents! -”_

 _"That’s not true._ **Wynne** _wasn’t like that." I look to my husband, then back at the Templar. Wynne is_ **not** _like that._

 _“- The Chantry will_ **not** _allow his freedom!” The Templar steps forward._

 _“Then I conscript him.”_ **FUCK.** _Did I just say that?!_

_My husband meets my wide eyes with a knowing glimmer away from Templar glares._

**Damn** _him. It’s what he stalled for this whole time._

 **“What?!”** _Anders and the outraged Templar cry together. Rain falls harder, plink-tink-plunk upon steel armor, filling in the silence around Templar disdain._

_My husband does stuff like this when people insult me; twists conversations till I judge how he wants. How did I not catch this sooner? It’s harder not to grimace than I thought._

_“Way to go, kid,” Oghren congratulates Anders with a snicker._

_“Your Majesty, you cannot!” the Templar still protests._

_“I’ll allow it. This man has provided a worthy service to the Crown with no promise he’d live to see your arrival.” Alistair turns to Anders, who doesn’t seem to believe his ears. “I see no reason to condemn him for that.”_

_“Congratulations, Ser Mage,” Pádraig says the same time Mhairi says the same. “Don’t abuse our trust. Her Majesty is_ **known** _for her_ **mercy,** ” _Pádraig embellishes with a sharp drawl. Anders’ hope contorts to disdain and he mutters away from us; my ears catch ‘no better than the Circle’._

 _The Templar in contempt storms away, rain still plink-tink-plinking on her armor. The other Templars follow without another word. Not needed_ **and** _dismissed; I have a feeling we’ll hear from the Grand Cleric soon._

_As soon as the Templars are out of earshot, Pádraig claps Anders on the back, moving the mage with his firm hand. “That should keep them off your back for a while.” Pádraig is not afraid of magic; mages are only people to him._

_“What, what?” Anders looks from Pádraig, me, and Alistair so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t lose balance. “I’m_ **free?”** _For certain he doubts his ears now._

 _“Free?” I echo. “Grey Wardens are_ **never** _free.” I shake my head. “But… as long as you refrain from blood magic, I’ll… you are free to stay_ **here.”** _My conscious is scolding me inside. Or maybe it’s the Maker scolding me._

 _Please please_ **please** _don’t let this come back to bite me! We don’t need something worse than Morrigan’s dark ritual haunting us._

_“Er, Your Majesties… Commander,” Seneschal Varel reminds us of his presence. “Perhaps it’s best to start the Joining.” He eyes the distant Templars with caution. “Before certain people change their minds.” He doesn’t care for trouble as much as any of us._

 

 

 

Far away, a young mother rocks her child. A mess of dark hair tosses as the babe shrieks in his sleep, unable to wake. He screams so hard so long his face is red, and streams glisten at the creases of his terrified little face. A single candle lighting the night reflects onto beads of sweat that mat fine dark hair to his skin. The mother rocks, cradling best she can the babe who has almost grown out of her arms. She pats his back, tries to hum, but she can’t hear herself unless he pauses for breath. Her own tears drip unending, eyes squeezed shut tight, _wishing._

This is the sixth sleepless night in a row. The boy is unaffected during the day, but _she_ wanes even after _one_ night. But it has been _six._ _She just recovered from four._ Her nerves are over-strained. She has little left to give. A _mother's comfort_ does nothing for the babe who - she can only guess - remembers dying under the blade of the mother's sister.

The mother is so tired she has trouble seeing straight. Her eyes hurt, her head hurts, her chest feels like it's smashed and pulled apart string by string every second. She can’t do this alone, but she has no one. The mother is _alone,_ and _she can't do this anymore._ This is not what she thought it would be. Flemeth did not say _this_ would happen.

The young mother now wonders if it was worth it? Was it right to lure the soul of one dismembered and carved into the body of an innocent babe? Would it not have been better to watch her sister mourn? _Would it not have been better to mourn her sister?_

Maybe her sister was right; some things are best left forgotten. _Old gods_ are best forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	6. The New Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn Cousland finds Nathaniel Howe at Vigil's Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Rock - Paper - Scissors, by Katzenjammer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqmbqnjbLco)

_Rain drops beat upon the roof and walls so loud it echoes inside no matter where we stand. Wind howls around wooden window shutters, banging them against bar locks. Branches whip against the castle as if the Keep itself has been naughty. The heavy pelting of the rain keeps a faint mist betwixt walls, visible only by the smoke of fire roaring in the center of the room. Lethargic. Morose. It feels like the weather is meant for my husband’s General tonight._

_“I’m sorry, Pádraig.” I hug my legs closer to my chest to fit on the seat._

_Pádraig looks at me from the throne. Mhairi did not survive the Joining. She impressed us all, but Pádraig took to her most. He had high hopes for the girl; grew too attached. Her strength and control in battle compared to my husband. I thought she, if anyone, would survive. Pádraig slumped in the throne sometime after setting a small pyre for the poor girl. His fist props his head up, squishing his cheek against his eye and nose._

_“At least she died a Grey Warden,” I say. I know it’s no comfort, though, when Oghren passed his Joining with little more than a foul belch and Anders sleeps in a room down the east hall. “I really am sorry, Pád.” He’d found an apprentice, of sorts. I believe he saw Mhairi as someone to replace him should he perish. Only the best to protect me; he can’t seem to plan enough. Any other day, it’s annoying. But now, I only feel for him._

_“I warned you,” my husband says from the other end of the room. He’s studying the portraits and bookshelves._

_“Alistair,” I reprimand._

_“What?” he shrugs. “I did warn him. You should never grow fond of Warden recruits. The mortality rate isn’t always merciful.”_

_“No, I know.” Pádraig sighs and leans over on the other fist. “I hoped, though. She was a rare individual. I figured she’d survive, like the other rare individuals I know.”_

_“_ **I** _am not a Grey Warden, though.” Zevran’s reclined on a pile of pillows with his feet propped on firewood. “And Oghren is a drunk. Nothing special about that.”_

_“If I wasn’t so sodding starving, I’d come over there and kick your ass!” Oghren says between huge bites of lamb._

_“You do yourself credit, my friend,” Zevran jokes._

_“Fucking full of yourselves,” Alistair scolds. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Pádraig wasn’t talking about_ **you** _two.”_

_“Boyyys,” I groan._

_“You heard the woman. Boyyys,” my husband mimics._

_“It sounds less adorable when_ **you** _say it, Alistair.” The corner of Pádraig’s mouth stretches towards my husband._

_“It sounds like we should all be naked, yes?” Zevran jokes with a straight face. Alistair grins without glancing over._

_The boring silence soon returns overpowering even the attempts to lighten the mood. We’ve been waiting and waiting for Anders to awake. It feels an unending wait. Mhairi’s pyre has burned for an hour already._

_“How long until I woke up?” I ask my husband. “After_ **my** _Joining?”_

 _“A few hours.” Alistair pulls a book down. “Yours was fast, though._ **I** _was out for a whole day, same with the rogue who Joined with me. Duncan thought his own took a day. Anders seems… otherwise normal… aside from his utter eagerness to kiss ass and mock authority at the same time. He may not wake till tomorrow.”_

_I groan and let my feet drop to the cold floor; the chill of the rock seeps through the carpet. “I’m turning in, then.”_

_“I like the sound of that. I’ll be sure to spill on Rendon Howe’s bed.” My husband blushes less and less as time goes on._

_“Carlyn.” My slippers drag against the carpet. My husband turns only his torso to stare at me. “Eleonora,” I continue, holding his gaze. His brow drops as his lips purse. “Griff.” Our children from the Fade. “Sorcha. Evander.” And the ones we wish to add; whether or not we can find out how to fix me up inside so I can conceive. “You’re not allowed to spill.” The corners of Alistair’s mouth turn up. He loves when I hint sex aloud in front of our friends._

_“Hah! That’s what I always say!” Oghren yells from his platter of meat._

**“Spill,** _Oghren, not spit,” I call back. Alistair’s smirk stretches into a chuckle._

_Pádraig sighs. “It’s going to be another long night, Zev.”_

_Zevran grins. “Indeed. Oghren! Don’t eat so much. You’ll miss the show. It’s_ **awkward** _when I’m the only one dropping eaves.” My husband laughs as I hide my face._

_“Er-” Varel clears his throat from another doorway. “Pardon me, Your Majesties.” A night robe wraps over his day clothes. Looks like he changed his mind about sleeping. “There is one more matter I forgot to mention.”_

_“You aren’t the first to forget important matters till the last minute,” Zevran tells him._

_“This isn’t_ **terribly** _important, but with all the work ahead of us the next week, I don’t want to forget in case the Darkspawn got to him.” Seneschal Varel tightens his robe and walks along the carpet, avoiding the cold floor. “There is a man sitting in the prison,” he tells us. “Broke in nights ago, before the darkspawn attack. Put up a damned good fight, gave two of the Orles- er,_ **Wardens** _black eyes. If he’s not dead, he awaits your judgement. The Wardens thought it best_ **you** _deal with him, Commander. He mentioned Fergus Cousland.”_

 _I groan again. “Oh, that is just_ **perfect.** ”

_“Prison? Where we found Anders?” Alistair asks._

_“No, that is a mere holding cell, Your Majesty. The statue of Andraste guards the prison, and the cellars behind her. I’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow, if you’d like. Now, if you’ll excuse me_ **again,** _it’s_ **still** _been a long day.” Varel turns right back around heads out the other corridor._

 _My husband sighs and our eyes meet. “Might as well get this over now,” he says. “Then we can_ **really** _put the day to rest. If he’s poisoned, we don’t want to wake up to his screams.”_

_Dark. Wet. The rain falls harder now than earlier. I almost can’t hear anything but the rain. It sounds worse from inside with the wind, but each drop is fat and heavy. Good old Fereldan springtime rain. My gown is already soaked up to my shins._

_“Is this what you meant by a fun easy few weeks?” I ask as we finally get the prison door open._

_“I didn’t tell you to wear your dress outside.” Alistair slams the door shut behind us. He turns away and shakes his head off like a hound._

_“But all the glorious spring showers?”_

_My husband turns, smiles at the soaking mess I am, and sweeps water from my hair. “I love the way it makes your face all rosy,” he says. That adoring glimmer is back._

_I fall for it in a heartbeat; and he knows I always do. I miss when he looks at me like this. We haven’t been alone for days. It sounds silly, but I need my time with him each night. Just me and my husband sitting together, breathing. Memorizing. He’s the only reason I feel beautiful anymore._

_“Your_ **friends** _flush my cheeks,_ **also.”**

_Alistair giggles before closing in. His lips are cold, his hands are cold and wet. But he always kisses me so perfect._

_A scoff echoes around us. “You’re not alone. It’s_ **rude** _not to look first.”_

_Stuck in a kiss, my husband and I search each other. My favorite amber eyes fall behind me with a frown as he pulls from my lips. “Who thought of putting a prison cell so close to a fucking door?” Alistair whispers._

_A mop of dark hair sits above shabby commoner clothing. He peers back from behind the bars, narrow eyes and a scowl. He looks familiar, but I can’t place where._

**“You.”** _He scoffs again. “And here I’d hoped it wasn’t true. Talk about irony.” He glares harder as I step closer. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”_

_That frown. That fucking sneer. The last time I saw that was on Rendon Howe right before I… “Ohhhh shit.” My feet step in reverse on their own, so fluid a change I might have been walking backwards all along._

_“What?” Alistair glances at me._

_There’s only one person this can possibly be. He looks more like the painting of Arlessa Eliane, less like his dead asshole father. Except that fucking scowl._

_“Well? What’s it going to be?_ **Your Majesty?”** _That dead-on fucking sneer._

_“What?” Alistair repeats. “What is it? You know him?”_

_“Nathaniel Howe.” Not sure if I’m trying to play nice and greet him, or warn my husband._

_“Oh shit.” Alistair’s recalling the same thing I am: I gutted this man’s father._

_“This is bad luck.” I jump at the voice only to swat our Antivan._

_“Zevran! Maker’s breath!” I try to glare but I started so bad my heart’s about to thump out. I have to catch my breath instead._

_“Very bad.” He frowns down at Nathaniel Howe. “The darkspawn and that vicious she-Pádraig dying? Eh. Luck of the draw. But_ **this?”** _Zevran nods at me._ **“Extremely** _bad luck, my dear.”_

_“You don’t think I know that?!” I hiss._

_“This_ **is** _his home.” Pádraig appears from nowhere on the other side of me. These men sneaking up on me! A fucking Howe in my face is all it takes to forget my family’s footsteps._

_“Finally someone with a sense of honor.” Bitterness chimes in Nathaniel Howe’s voice._

_“Not anymore,” Alistair counters. “Vigil’s Keep belongs to the Grey Wardens now.”_

_Nathaniel continues scoffing. “And_ **you** _must be the glorious King Alistair.”_

_“I look better in my armor.”_

_“And your sword,” Zevran adds._

_“That also. But I appreciate the admiration,_ **Howe.”** _Alistair never knew any Howe and he still hates them all - because of what Rendon did to me._

_“You’ll forgive me if I don’t bow. I’m chained to the floor.” Nathaniel sasses my husband._

_Zevran leans toward me, eyes still on our prisoner. “Can I oil him up?”_

_This elf must be joking. “Right now?!” I search him._

_He shrugs. “He is already chained up. It makes it easier on my end. Or_ **his,** _rather.” He grins his darker grin. Zevran is trying to intimidate the adversary. “Give me an hour. I guarantee he’ll be a lot nicer.”_

_Nathaniel glares harder. “I dare you to try.”_

_“No no,” I shake my head at Nathaniel, “We don’t dare Zev stuff like this, he’ll actually do it.”_

_“Well!” Alistair claps his hands like a thunder break. “Not that this hasn’t been sentimental, little Howe, but it’s getting late.”_

_“Little Howe,” he echoes. Nathaniel stares at my husband; no doubt trying to wound him with his eyes. “Sure. What’s another night imprisoned in my own home?”_

_“The_ **Wardens’** _home,” my husband reminds Nathaniel with a reprimanding stare._

 _“Because of_ **her!”** _Nathaniel juts an arm at me._

_Pádraig’s sword is out faster than I can blink. “You’re already over the line, Howe. Don’t give me reason to open this door.” The cell is so small tip of his sword is a head away from Nathaniel’s face._

_“Returning enlightened me_ **one** _thing, at least. Now I know how to take someone’s home,” Nathaniel keeps ranting. “All I have to do is_ **murder** _them in front of witnesses.”_

_“What are you even doing here?” I ask him. I haven’t seen him since I was fifteen. Fergus was his friend, not I. I was nothing more than a girl the boys didn’t want around. It seems time changes nothing for some people._

**“This is my home,”** _he enunciates, his voice almost echoing. “Surely_ **you** _haven’t forgotten._ **Cousin.”**

 _“This just got_ **way** _more interesting. I didn’t know he was your cousin.” Zevran nudges me._

 **“Do** _not.” I hold my palm to Nathaniel. “Your father_ **severed** _that relation when he_ **gutted my** _father._ **Your brother** _sat on the_ **bones** _of my family while your father_ **tortured** _his way around the survivors of the Blight and declared himself Arl and Teryn of half the country! Your father threw away Howe nobility the day he murdered Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland!”_

 _“It doesn’t surprise me you play innocent. You were in Orlais for years. My father had proof you were_ **your** _father’s emissary, you know.”_

 _“Proof? Vacationing home from my job as the Empress’_ **bucket cleaner** _is_ **proof?** _Of_ **what?** _That I stooped to_ **servitude** _to find my own happiness?” Though most people in this room know I was much more than Celene’s servant._

 **“You** _were trying to sell the country to Orlais.” Where in fucking oblivion did quiet, logical Nathaniel Howe get ideas I was an emissary for treachery that deep? Not even Loghain’s mad accusations spread past the Landsmeet._

 _But if that’s what Rendon Howe claimed, it wouldn’t surprise me if he sent letters of suspicion to nobles out of the country. Created alibis for himself. “Oh, so help me Maker!” I scoff and glare, my eyes large at the blind ignorance of this man. “Your_ **father** _told you that, didn’t he?” I have no motivation to let this ass out of his own prison._

 _“Actual news does not travel out of Ferelden, eh? The countries are_ **friends** _now.” My husband crosses his arms and returns Nathaniel’s glare. Alistair nods._ **“Have** _been for_ **years** _. It was Cailan’s idea, in fact.” Embellishing again, this time to protect me._

 _“And it_ **killed Cailan.** _The whole world knows it,” Nathaniel’s tone reminds me of grease and tar._

 _The prison bars rattle beneath my hands. “Fucking thing -! GET VAREL AND THAT FUCKING KEY!” I yell over my shoulder before shoving my hand through the bars. I can’t fucking reach him! “That was Loghain Mac Tir!” I correct. “Anora sat on the throne and did_ **nothing** _while Loghain abandoned Cailan at Ostagar! Me and Alistair_ **lit** _that fucking beacon! We gave Loghain the signal to charge! And he fled like a fucking coward! You don’t get to sneak in here and spit lies, Nathaniel Howe! Not in my country!”_

 _“And so very convenient for you._ **I** _grew up with the impression_ **you** _didn’t_ **want** _to be Queen.”_

 _“I still don’t!” My teeth feel like they’re about to shatter each other. “I’m not Queen because I_ **want** _to be! I’m Queen because my_ **husband** _became_ **King!”** _I shove myself away from the cell and scream through my teeth. “How can you spout this shit, Nathaniel?” I whirl again._

 _“You took_ **everything** _from my family!” he snarls._ **_“My brother_ ** _is_ **_dead_ ** _because of you. My_ **sister** _is_ **missing -”**

 **_“My_ ** _entire_ **_family_ ** _is dead because of_ **_your father!"_ ** _I yell back. He doesn't need to know Fergus lives. "Your_ **_sister_ ** _is in Amaranthine under another name!_ _Not even_ **she** _wants to know your family! And your brother died by darkspawn! Don’t you_ **dare!** _I will cut out your fucking tongue, Nathaniel!”_

 _“And that scares me how? My family’s name is_ ** _black_** _because of you!” He stands in a blink and grabs a bar; a chained ankle and wrist keep an arm and a leg behind him. Part of me wants him to attack first. He’s lucky Pádraig went to fetch Varel, otherwise those would have been Nathaniel Howe’s last words. “Generations of heroes dating back to Calenhad - same as you and your_ **husband** _-_ _all gone because_ **you** _slandered my father! I was welcomed back in the country with_ **abuse** _and_ **threats!”**

_“And if you defend your murderous father, you deserve them!”_

_“You took_ **everything** _from me!_ **I** _made sure your years abroad were safe and comfortable, and_ **this** _is what I get in return! My father’s_ **niece** _killed him in his own home!”_

_“Arl Kendell’s home!” I shove my nose to his through the bars._

_“Tess.” My husband pulls me from the bars, but I shrug out of his arms._

_“Your father_ **gutted** _my father! THAT’S THE LAST I SAW OF MY FATHER NATHANIEL! He tried to hold his own guts in just to buy himself time to make sure I escaped to safety! Your father waited till_ **after midnight** _to attack! After my brother and our army were out of sight and we had_ **no** _way to defend ourselves! YOUR FATHER PLANNED IT ALL!!”_

“ _Get this door open, Varel. I want him out of here. Stab him and hang him by his feet.” Alistair orders. I hadn’t heard Varel or Pádraig return._

 **“People** _will_ **see** _that.” Nathaniel might as well tie his own noose. “The fair king_ **murders** _the last Howe who_ **only** _wanted to reclaim his family’s heirlooms? They will revolt in time.”_

 _“And I will drown_ **everyone** _who protests!” I promise. “I spent a_ **month** _trying to kill myself because of your father!! He killed my nephew!! My brother’s pregnant wife!_ **Everyone** _in my house! And then your lying son of a bitch father told me he made_ **my** _father_ **watch** _as he cut my mother’s throat!!” As soon as Varel opens the door, I have Nathaniel against the wall. He looks back and forth from my hands to my face like I’m a raving lunatic. “Don’t you_ **dare** _justify his murder!”_

_I don’t notice my hands are flame - and so is Nathaniel’s shirt - until Alistair yanks me out by my elbows._

_“Perhaps it’s best if Her Majesty is not here,” Varel advises Alistair._

**“NO!!”** _I shake my hands out as I squirm away. “No!_ **Give** _him the fucking potion!”_

_“Your Majesty?” Varel asked as if he misheard._

_“THE FUCKING POTION VAREL! Give Nathaniel the fucking potion! He wants to sneak in here to accuse me of his father’s actions? He can fucking wise up as Grey Warden!”_

_“What?! Absolutely not!_ **Kill** _me! I_ **refuse** _to follow you!” Nathaniel protests._

 _I shove him again. “YOU DON’T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE!! Your father is the very fucking reason the Grey Warden caught me!_ **You** _will_ **correct** _your father’s mistakes, Nathaniel Howe, and you will start with_ **every** _fucking nightmare I’ve had to deal with since_ **his** _actions made me a Warden!”_

 

 _I can’t keep my hands out. They keep igniting and frosting, angry jagged crystals or wild flames. Alistair stays with me in the dungeon after the other leave, Nathaniel in chains led by Pádraig and Domhnall. Even after he’s gone, I still feel his fucking aura in here, like it paints the walls. I keep pacing and turning, shaking my hands, trying to breathe, trying to forget whose sneer Nathaniel inherited. I don’t know what else to do to calm down right now. Alistair keeps out of reach so I don’t melt him. I can’t push my burning home from my mind to calm my new_ **magic** _for the life of me._

 _It’s like he did this on purpose! Like Nathaniel said what he did so I’d kill him! Who does that? Who comes home after eleven years to_ **goad** _someone into killing them? Does he not care who his actions affect? He’s just like his fucking father!!_

 _Pádraig peeks in to say the Joining potion is ready, then with an observant stare, closes the door after him. I look at Alistair. Help. Guidance. Holy Smite me;_ **anything.** _Drain this ancient Archdemonic mana inside me._

_“Are you sure this is what you want?” my husband asks. The Joining. Making Nathaniel a Warden._

_“No. But he doesn’t deserve death! He came here to_ **do** _this to me! To_ **hurt** _me! Did you see him?”_

_“All right, all right.” He nods. “You’re right.” he assures me. “I just don’t want to see this happen again, Tess. If he survives, we’ll have to tolerate him.”_

_“But he’ll_ **suffer.”**

_My husband is concerned. I don’t ever talk like this. He’s knows this cut me as deep as Rendon Howe himself did. “And what if that doesn’t stop what started here tonight?” He asks._

_My face scrunches with leaky tears. “I don’t know.”_

_Alistair holds out his arms. I look down at my own first: out, my fumes and angry ice are gone. Crying. Crying is the easiest way not to be on fire. I hate this, I_ **hate** _crying! I hate that being sad is the only way to thwart the magic I stole from the Archdemon. I fall into my husband’s arms and cry. That’s all I can do right now._

_It’s how I arrived here. It’s how I’ll fall asleep here tonight. Crying._

_Hooray for the Hero of Ferelden._

 

_Varel looks like he’s delivering news of a loved one’s death. “The Howe lives.”_

_A loud noise sinks my heavy chest. “Fucking great.”_

_Alistair watches me in interest. “Now what?”_

_“Poison him again? With something stronger?” I offer._

_“Er…” Varel looks like he’s never been in a position like this before._

_“Did you know it was Nathaniel all along?” I demand._

_“Not at all. I never met the lad. I came into Rendon Howe’s service seven years ago. Nathaniel Howe was sent away ten years ago, I believe-”_

_“Eleven,” I correct without meaning to._

_“I never met the boy,” Varel repeats. “Had he looked like Rendon Howe, I would have recognized him.”_

_“Looks more like his mum,” I mutter. I glance at my husband. “Arl Bryland’s sister.”_

**“Oh,** _well,_ **that’s** _just lovely. He’ll be_ **tickled** _to hear of Nathaniel’s return.” Alistair gave a dreading smile. Though Rendon Howe’s been dead years, Arl Leonas Bryland still hates him for marrying Eliane for dowry. The two men_ _were friends once, before the rebellion. Then, it was no secret Rendon hated Eliane; one of those things nobles gossip about but pretend doesn’t exist when facing it. Leonas hates Rendon’s children in memory of the man who made his sister’s life miserable. He’s made it clear more than once he_ **dares** _Nathaniel to reclaim Amaranthine._

_“It might be best to write him,” Varel advised. “Make it clear Nathaniel was conscripted to work off Rendon’s crimes. Er, speaking of unexpected circumstances, Your Majesty,” he begins._

_“We weren’t speaking of them,” my husband says, wanting to avoid more surprises._

_“Well, now that we are,” Varel’s trying to break tension, “I was not aware you’re a mage, Commander. Or do you prefer Your Majesty? If you’d like, I can order a steady supply of lyrium for you?”_

_I grimace at both questions. “Pádraig will correct you if you try to call me anything different,” I mumble. “And I’m_ **not** _a bloody mage!”_

_Varel hesitates, looking from me to Alistair in uncertainty._

_“She’s not.” Alistair shakes his head._

_“Apparently if you take lyrium and surviving killing an Archdemon, you absorb his… magic... Other Wardens fail to mention that part,” a white lie. I brush Varel off and turn. “No lyrium.”_

_“No, order some,” Alistair allows._

_“What?” I stare at my husband. He used to get so angry at me when I took it. Lyrium causes_ **so** _many problems for us, not to mention the withdrawals almost kill me._

 _“Just in case.” He stares back. “Better to be prepared. Especially if -” he nods toward the hall Nathaniel Howe recovers in “- certain problems persist.” Alistair looks at the row of hourglasses behind the throne; the best way to tell time without the coastal water clocks, as long as someone remembers to turn them when they chime. It’s about half past two in the morning. “There’s nothing more to do till sunrise. Or until the new_ **children** _wake. Might as well try to sleep. Thank you, Varel.”_

 

 

_It’s hard to sleep, though. Too wound up. Too scared. Can’t stop picturing my parents’ faces when Duncan dragged me away. When I close my eyes, it’s my nephew with an arrow in his neck, then Rendon with his intestines wrapped like a noose. The worst night of my life dragged out into a never-ending horror._

_Alistair is sound asleep. He doesn’t stir when I get out of bed. Neither he or Po wake when I slip from the room._

_Cold fucking floor, cold fucking halls. The hearth in my new room - Rendon’s old room - kept it cozy. But not out here. Those of my guard on night watch pace the halls with extra padding under their armor; I can see it when they turn. Eirik begs my pardon to insist I’m lucky I don’t have bullocks to freeze off. Benneit down the hall offers a spiced chocolate from his wife, says it will warm me right up - in a whisper, though, also hissing not to tell Eirik. I can’t help but giggle at both of them._

_As annoying as Pádraig’s security measures are, I enjoy my guards. They are solid friends when I need them; half of them rescued us from the Deep Roads with Pádraig. They’ve seen my worst and treat it no different than my best. And they always know how to make me smile._

_But plain and simple, not a bright near-future lies ahead of me. Frustrating; from arriving, to the rain, to Templars and losing Mhairi, now my intrusive former cousin. Benneit warns me Nathaniel Howe is up and about. He says I have but to yell and they’ll be there; doesn’t make the idea any less dreading._

_Great. Fucking joyful and great._

_Thank the Maker he’s not in the corridor. Not in either sitting room, not in the kitchens. Not in the throne room. Is it too much to hope he wandered out and will drown in a puddle? Andraste calm my nerves, please. I hate all these feelings Nathaniel’s surfaced. I don’t think he cares, either. He did not check his facts and he does not care how bad his father hurt people -_ **my** _people. Hurt_ **me.**

_The throne is empty. Dusted, polished. Doesn’t look used much. Pádraig looked nay too bad in it earlier… Could I persuade him to take over as Arl? Then I could go home. Away from Darkspawn and Nathaniel fucking Howe._

_My huff echoes in the silent room. Pádraig would threaten war if I made him Arl; after he laughed in my face._

_The fire still roars in here, at any rate. I won’t need to wait for a flame to take, unlike if I settle in a study. I head to a corner with a sigh; might as well take care of business while I can’t sleep. Hop over cold stone from one carpet to the next, over to the stand with all the important Grey Warden documents Varel said could wait till tomorrow._

_Varel’s organized, I’ll give him that. Every correspondence is alphabetized and ascending by date. Letters between the Orlesian Wardens and Varel, preparations, checklists. Lists of basic recruit requirements: ability to read, write, able to wield a weapon and assemble their own armor._

_Sounds like Orlais had a few tricky trials-and-errors with recruits._

_A letter from the First Warden. I frown so hard I see my brows. Hog shit about my duty as Commander of the Grey being an example and beacon to all nations, that because Alistair and I are Wardens who became royalty, the outcome of my post here at Vigil’s Keep_ **must** _prove to the world Wardens are important to a country’s welfare even outside Blights. It is up to_ **me** _to show the world Grey Wardens are worthy of titles._

 _Not_ **any** _Wardens, First Warden Lazyass. Only me and Alistair._

_I crumple the First Warden’s letter with a growl and throw it in the fire. If Amaranthine thrives under Warden rule, it will be because Ferelden’s Commander already runs the rest of the country_

_Did I just call myself Commander? Ohhh sod._

_I crumple myself, now, pulling the hood of my robe over my head. I hate Grey Warden-hood. The only good that comes from being a Grey Warden is already my King and husband. I will never - and don’t want to - find anything of equal value if I stay a Warden. I don’t want to make Darkspawn and hallucinations in the Deep Roads my purpose in life._

_Maybe if I wish hard enough, I’ll be back home when I remove my hood._

_“Do you have nightmares also?”_

_Sod._

_My eyes fly open at my folded arms. I glare into the darkness of my hood at Nathaniel fucking Howe._

_“Oh, good. You’re awake.” I hope he understands sarcasm._

_“Do you?” he repeats._

_“It’s a_ **shame** _you were forced to Join during a Blight because your_ **uncle** _murdered your_ **family** _and the only way for you to_ **escape** _the fire and death was getting_ **dragged** _away by a Grey Warden.” I pause and lift my head. “Oh, wait, that was me.”_

_“Do you or do you not?” Nathaniel is somewhere beyond my sight. Hiding behind a pillar, no doubt._

_“Did you dream of a dragon?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then the dreams_ **I** _still have are_ **multitudes** _worse than any_ **you** _will have,” I finally answer._

_The room is silent for a moment. Then a body steps out from the shadows; Nathaniel’s feet are noiseless. He stares up at a painting on the wall; his mother._

_“You had dreams of the Archdemon?”_

_“Sometimes every night.”_

_“It never goes away? And the_ **pain** _in my veins when the dream woke me?”_

_“Welcome to the Grey Wardens, mate.” I sneer at his backside._

_Nathaniel looks around the room. Bitter eyes only graze over me. “Can you understand the voices?”_

_“In my dreams, yes.”_

_“So it only gets worse from here on out?”_

_I don’t know what to think of this side of Nathaniel._ **This** _is the Nathaniel I remember from childhood; quiet, reserved, wanting to learn. “You have thirty years or so to live.”_

_He huffs. “You sentenced me to a slow, agonizing death. I’m sure you’re quite satisfied now.”_

_“No. I hoped you’d die.” No point lying. “The last time I saw your scowl was when I said goodbye to your father.”_

_Nathaniel’s eyes shift. He seems to realize the gravity of surviving the Joining._ **I’ll** _be his Commander. A slow death sentence coupled with orders by someone he wanted dead, someone who doesn’t want him alive._

_"Did he suffer?” His fucking father. Nathaniel doesn’t know what he’s asking._

_“Are you sure you want me to answer that?” I stare. His eyes fall to mine._

_“Forget it,” he says after a moment. He waves me off and walks down the carpet. “Don’t worry,_ **Commander.** _I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.” Nathaniel Howe flashes me one more scowl before disappearing around the corner._

 _Way to go, Tess. You have to suffer him till you_ **die,** _now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	7. Try and Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Taint bonded Alistair and Tesslyn. It was a source of comfort when the Blight proved unpredictable. It also caused separation anxiety. Overtime with proper warning, they grew able to function apart. But now, years later, even preparation is not enough. At Vigil's Keep with no other Taint yet to distract her, all Tesslyn feels is the absence of her husband. The son of her disgraced, murderous _uncle_ only makes things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Rolling in the Deep, by Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw)

_"May I have my old room back?”_

_Everyone stops eating to stare at Nathaniel Howe. A snort escapes when I slouch down into my seat and grimace and pout. I roll my eyes. Blasted man is still here. It does no good to hide behind my mug, he stares at me anyway._

_“If you don’t answer me, I’ll only keep asking.”_

_I groan and sink further in my chair. Thank Andraste the Queen’s wardrobe includes excessive hoods I can hide my whole face with. Maybe if I can’t see him, he’ll go away._

_I feel my husband’s gaze on me; the rhythm of his Taint always matches the urgency of his eyes. “Don’t even,” I warn Alistair. “_ **You’re** _the bloody_ **King.** **You** _talk to him.”_

_Alistair sighs. It annoys him when I’m like this. “What room was yours?” he asks Nathaniel fucking Howe._

_“The room that elf is in.”_

**“My** _new room? No no no, that room is_ **mine.** _I picked it out fair and square before we knew you were here,”_ **that elf** _protests. I peek at Zevran from under my hood._

 _“But it still has all my old belongings in it.” Nathaniel stares from face to face. “As a Grey Warden, aren’t I entitled to_ **some** _freedom? Or is my lack of death nothing more than a prison sentence?”_

_“You can move your bed into the prison, then,” I say. Nathaniel’s stormy eyes fly to me with a frown._

_“No.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been kicked around since I returned to this country, to_ **my home,** _including_ **forced** _into this forsaken Order. You_ **forced** _me into a death sentence, cousin, against my will. And now I’ve got little choice but to follow your command. You condemned me_ **and** _you’ll have my bow. The_ **least** _you can do is give me back my old room.”_

_I’m reminded of a judgement Alistair once made in Rainesfere: a thief would fight darkspawn to keep a farmer’s wife safe, so the least the farmer could do was offer the thief his wife and bed._

_Fucking logic._

_I grab a slice of bread and rip a chunk almost larger than I can chew; I won’t be able to answer for a minute at least now._

**“Cousin.”**

_“Sop fuffeh cawwumeeva.”_

_“What?” From the corner of my eye, Nathaniel winces perplexed. I suspect he expects Queens to use better manners. Lucky for him he’s not pestering me in my palace._

_“Tess,” my husband’s tone drops; he’s using his Tess You’re Not Being Fair voice. He’s always level-headed when I’m not._

_I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to compromise. It feels like I’m giving in to Rendon Howe, giving him permission all over again to stay in the castle until his men arrive. To murder my family. And Nathaniel refuses to consider I’m right about his father. I don’t want to do this to my father’s memory, to my mother, my nephew, my Nan… My father was a loyal brother to Rendon when others turned their backs. My father_ **fought** _for Rendon to remain Arl._

_I force the chunk of bread down my throat. “Stop calling me that, Nathaniel.”_

_“Would you rather I call you_ **Sister,** _now?_ **Commander?** _” he sneers._

 _I shoot up to stand, but Alistair pulls me back down. “Nathaniel, that is enough._ **Tess.”** _My husband the Father of his people._

 _I shake my head. “I_ **can’t** _give_ **in** _to him, Alistair.” I want to say I’m too old to forgive his father’s injustice, that Nathaniel’s responsible for it all. But I once yelled at an old Dalish Keeper for allowing a curse for the same reason; too old to forgive an injustice of one long dead. Easier to blame the blood that lives on in the descendants. Maybe Zathrian was more right than I considered. Sometimes there is no room left for mercy._

_Though, this country will view conscripting him to work off his father’s crimes - instead of killing him - as mercy. The Chantry will convince the people my actions were commendable._

_Why couldn’t the Joining have killed him?_

_Because then Nathaniel Howe would have died with_ **honor** _as a Grey Warden. Without needing to make amends._

_Maker, You need to stop making me Your center for amusement.._

_Alistair takes a deep breath. “Zev, give him his old room back.”_

_Zevran sighs hard with a grimace I wore a moment ago. “Fine. But I want to finish eating first.”_

**“Thank** _you… King Alistair,” Nathaniel adds. He sounds and looks of genuine gratitude when he did not expect fairness._

_Alistair waves him near. “Might as well join us, Warden Nathaniel.”_

_“No, I will get out of everyone’s hair. It’s evident I’m nothing more than a nuisance.” Nathaniel turns around and strides swift from the hall._

_I dare myself to look at my husband. Alistair is upset; concern more than anything. He fears I’m on the brink of exploding again, full-blown panic and strings of nightmares. It tends to happen when I start acting like a child… like I am now._

_I haven’t felt like this for months. I_ **hate** _it, it makes me feel weak. But I can’t just wipe my memory clean._

_I was not in my right mind when I ordered Nathaniel’s Joining._

 

 

 _The week is horrendous. With the rain moved on, a bigger account of what happened before we arrived reveals itself. The Keep and the Order are a disaster. Bodies; names to record for Weisshaupt - names I don’t know because those Wardens went missing and Varel didn’t know them well enough. Guard house and store houses burnt. A fucking door in the basement leads to an ancient Avvar crypt; that alone causes concern. Torture dungeons; Maker, how did I never learn about this side of Rendon Howe growing up? Ghouls who used to be important people to Nathaniel make my old_ **cousin** _bitch about my family again, before we discover a passage the stonemason suspects leads to the Deep Roads. The dwarven stonecrafter concludes this is how darkspawn took the Orlesian Wardens by surprise; no defense when the spawn came from unknown passages. As bad as it was when I arrived, it must have been worse for the Wardens already here. To have the Darkspawn bubble up like an underground spring that wasn’t supposed to exist…_

_Does my husband still think this will be easy for me?_

_And then there’s Nathaniel._ **He just doesn’t leave.** _He won’t stop calling me Cousin. His missing aggression from in the prison cell only stems suspicion. It makes me wonder if he wanted me to kill him then? Zevran attempted similar when I met him. A small part of me hopes Zevran will have an affect on Nathaniel. The rest of me hopes Pádraig will mangle him._

_Anders has become a sort of relief; from Nathaniel most of all. He’s silly, makes me giggle, and faster with puns than all of us. Carefree; not innocent in the least, but doesn’t let the troubles of the world bother him. Seems happy to wake up and get drunk when he wants. Grateful to pee without needing permission. Zevran and Oghren and him already peck at each other. Pádraig seems to like him, and Alistair’s warmed up to him. Unlike the Chantry’s views on apostates, Anders doesn’t seem interested in using magic in the slightest. He only doesn’t want to be confined to a tower for being born a mage; I understand not wanting to be considered a monster for something out of my control. Upon request, Anders demonstrated the destructive spells he knows, but I’ve yet to see him even light a candle with magic. He’s taken aback by the trust placed in him for merely being a Warden; though in truth we trusted him from the beginning. Trust is a concept he doesn’t understand - a concept that took me a decade to believe in again. His hope for the best is resilient regardless. Anders’ view of Kinloch Hold doesn’t match my memory of my time there. I wonder if lyrium clouded my time there and my mission. For the first time, I feel guilty for killing the mages who harassed Solona Amell. I suspect I helped shape Anders’ view of Templars._

_The Arling’s fucking vassals aren’t any better than Nathaniel. Alistair is still here when the nobles of the Arling visit to swear fealty, but for some reason in this corner of Ferelden, a local leader holds more weight than the actual King and Queen do. Even after all my husband and I have done to flower this country. Not even Varel seems to understand that as Queen, I’m already above the equivalent of Arlessa. They’ve already sworn themselves to me and Alistair. Do they honestly think swearing themselves to me as a minute local leader accomplishes_ **more** **_?_ ** _I can help them better as Queen than I can as Arlessa. They don’t seem to_ **care** _an Arlessa is not as capable as the Queen, even when Alistair uses his angry voice to remind them of our station. They assume every action here will still need approval from the Bann, then the Throne in Denerim. They are content using resources quite meager compared to the Crown’s._

 _Some vassals are people I loathe. Bann Esmerelle runs the city of Amaranthine like it’s her duty to carry on Anora’s practices. Lady Liza Packton is as greedy and snide a shrew as Esmerelle, though with a less annoying voice. Liza is livid when I don’t honor a sale made only between her and Rendon Howe without even a courtesy warning to the man who already owned the land. She threatens me with Bann Esmerelle, but my husband and me laugh out loud;_ _how acute her ignorance of the chain of command._ _Alistair doesn’t have time to threaten demotion to either_ _lady. Nathaniel's voice damn near surprises the lyrium out of me. From the shadows he scolds Lady Liza: "Hold your tongue in the presence of the_ ** _Queen_** _of_ ** _Ferelden_** _."_ _I’m not sure others catch the ire directed at me._

 _And some of these are people I’m not sure how to address: Lord and Lady Eddlebrek, and Lord Guy. I took their daughters’ lives fourteen years ago. Neither seem to harbor a grudge on me… but the discomfort when they swear fealty to_ **me personally** _\- not a general promise to a King and his wife… It’s thick enough to cut with Oghren’s axe. I excused myself before court was over and cried myself to sleep in my husband’s arms._

 

_Then my husband rode away with my dog and half my guard. Pádraig let me hold his arm and cry as I watched my husband disappear into the horizon._

_I knew this would happen. We planned for it, talked about it more and more as the day neared; didn’t want it to catch us off-guard. It’s one thing to be at opposite ends of the palace. But I have not been apart from my husband for_ **years.** _We met four years ago; almost to the date. Since then, we’ve only been out of each other’s Taint a small handful of times, and around the palace, it’s never more than an hour at a time. This is already harder than_ **simply** _staying a few weeks to train a replacement Commander._

_I don’t know how to do anything without him. What will happen to me when he’s not here to calm my bad days? With the Archdemon’s magic in me, my bad days are more a risk than ever before, especially with Nathaniel Howe here._

_Pádraig and the half of my guard that stayed try to be understanding. Oghren and Zevran know how it is with Alistair and me, and after years of always tailing me, my guard knows what to watch for and when to step in. Anders seems empathetic of my sorrow and tries to distract me. But my ability to find humor anywhere has already waned hard, and discomfort settles on the Keep. Though it is spring and blossoms burst all over the grounds, the sky is darker for me and flowers don’t look as pretty as they used to. No replacement Commanders can be made like this. I am not an effective tutor, which leaves Oghren and Zevran to train Nathaniel and Anders best they can._

_Hurting for my husband dumps my responsibility on my friends, and I don’t have the will to change it._

_I can’t smell Alistair anymore. My baths are devoid of tender hands and adoring eyes; baths were always his to give. My bed is cold and empty without him. I can’t hear his heartbeat under my ear at night._

_I lie alone and I cannot sleep._

_I_ **am** _alone._

 

 

 _The only thing I can do here that I cannot do at home is let this magic inside me loose._ _It is not the relief I hoped. It does not ease my nerves._ _Templar discipline is not the same without Alistair; he always breathed with me. But I don’t know how to cast spells._ _Trying to control my breath to focus only reminds me my husband is_ **_gone_ ** _and not here to help me._ _Anders tries to coach my breath to muster magic how he was taught, but I set more dummies aflame by accident than I will actual spells. I set_ **Anders** _on fire. Even after training with my guard and Pádraig each morning and night, all the time I spend on this is for naught. It’s only seems proof the Archdemon’s magic broke me again._ _A reminder I am a mess with or without my husband._ **Worse** _without him._ _Like I’m_ **destined** _to stay broken._

_Broken Tess, not strong enough to overcome anything on her own._

_Pádraig keeps suggesting we visit Amaranthine; shopping might take my mind off things. Benneit slips me more chocolate from his wife and offers to train me on his crossbow. Varel suggests I visit the city to find leads on the missing Warden Kristoff, and track down two miners who discovered a darkspawn gathering. He_ **advises** _I find something to occupy my time until a replacement Commander is trained. They’re all pressuring me to occupy my time; to distract me from thinking of my husband. But none of them understand._

_Training a Commander is a hapless feat of its own. Varel is like all the others who don’t believe Alistair and I had no clue what we did during the Blight. He doesn’t understand I don’t know how to train a replacement Commander. We did what we needed to survive. You don’t train for those things, you dodge the attacks and try to memorize what hits where as it unfolds. And if it had not been for Alistair, I may have died right after leaving Morrigan’s swamp._

_I don’t do things on my own anymore. I can’t do half of what I used to. Lyrium destroyed so many of my basic functions. Alistair had to re-teach me to build a simple fire. Training someone to kill on command does not undo lyrium damage. Killing a dragon does not compare to_ **training Commanders** _or surviving on my own._ **Anything** _can kill a beast. And duties of a Queen do not go beyond impressing emissaries; it is talk and poise, not dexterity. Alistair is always there when I am Queen._

_But now Alistair is gone._

**None** _of them understand._

 

 

_I don’t remember what day it is. Night, whatever. It’s naught but another night everyone else fell asleep and I cannot. Stamina potions get me through the hours. I know they’re not meant for repeated used, but I can’t remember what happened when I took them on end in the Deep Roads. I only remember they kept me awake._

_I’ve been outside for hours now. I think. The visible moon has risen its peak, the chirping insects have quieted, bats even went back inside. It is just me and the training dummies outside_ _. I'm not counting my patrolling guard. These men trained to cheer me up in times like this. But they've ignored me all night._

_Me and my breath, while my daggers dice up stuffed burlap and wood. When those lay swinging off nails or in splinters, I charge the wooden gate. My diamond-rose stops for nothing, cutting so clean she often not makes a sound. A lock falls off with a spark, then a chunk from the middle of the gate, then a support bar. One side of the gate doors tips back and hits metal hinges, scraping almost like Shrieks in the silent night._

_“Congratulations. You discovered how to wake the entire Keep at once after midnight.”_

_I growl under my breath and hold my daggers tighter. “Stop lurking, Nathaniel. Get back to bed.”_

_“I’m not lurking. I was here first.”_

_I look around but can’t see him. “You’re more than welcome to die here first.”_

_“I will, eventually. Thanks to you.” He drops straight down ahead of me, starting my nerves. I glower at him, hoping it hides my caught breath. “How did you get that scar?” he asks. In the dark of night with nothing but a half-moon and guard post torches lighting the grounds, sly Nathaniel Howe looks like a shadow with a human face._

_“I am_ **covered** _in scars. You’ll have to be more specific.” I sheathe my daggers and turn away, but Nathaniel stops me by the arm and walks in front of me. His eyes scour my face._

_He points. “That one. The large one on your cheek.”_

_Way to salt the wound, asshole._

_“Being a Grey Warden.” I look away again, still frowning. With Alistair and my normal retinue, sometimes I forget I have scars. With them, sometimes I only remember when I see my bare arms in the bath or when I’m dressing._

_“How?” he presses, turning my face. He can’t stop, can he?_

_“A golem. Are you quite satisfied?”_

_“A golem? Like the one Zevran says you had? He’s a horrible tutor, by the way. He draws all monsters the same.”_

_“No, a_ **different** _golem.”_

_He ducks a bit to better inspect my scar. “I’ve never seen a golem before.”_

_“I’ll be sure to summon both of mine back here. Shale is efficient at correcting cheeky recruits.”_

_“I think you are lucky you did not lose your eye.”_

_I search him, glaring. I can’t figure him out. Insulting me, then offering condolences? “Don’t you have anything_ **better** _to do than remind me being conscripted against my will turned me into a_ **hideous monster?”**

_Nathaniel frowns, now. He steps away, taken aback._

**He’s** _taken aback?_

_“I didn’t mean… You think it makes you hideous?”_

_I shove him away, twice to put distance between us. Nathaniel tries to protest, but I wave him off and walk backwards. “What I did to you -_ **making** _you be a Grey Warden - you will_ **never** _have it as hard as I have! Before I was_ **dragged** _away from my home - my burning home! - to be a Grey Warden, I only had a few scars - places no one could see._ **No** _one_ **stared** _like I was some grotesque mutation! You surviving doesn’t give you rights! You don’t get to_ **inspect** _me and remind I am_ **broken** _and incorrigible! You are_ **not** _my_ **equal,** _Nathaniel Howe! You are_ **not** _my cousin! I am a Grey Warden_ **because** _of a_ **Howe!** _You can_ **damn** _well repay_ _the fucking favor!” I turn my back on him and pick up my feet._

_“I’m not -? Cousin!” he calls._

_“YOU ARE NOT MY COUSIN!!” I scream. “You are_ **nothing** _but a_ **nightmare** _I have to suffer ALL OVER AGAIN!” However much he doesn’t want to be here, he will_ **_never_ ** _have to relive everything his father did to my family_ **just** _by looking at me!_

 _I run. I can’t even see most the ground, but I run. Out the courtyard, past the guardhouse. I just want to go home! Where I have my husband, where no Howes can fucking sneak up on me and parade my scars._ _Where no one pressures me to hold my face and be someone I can't_ **_while_ ** _Nathaniel parades my scars._

_A horse neighs as I round near the stables. Plum! My feet lose ground when I turn; gravel grinds into my palms and knees. Doesn't hurt as bad as my heart right now. My horse waits for me, keeps calling for me. He doesn’t move away when I miss his mane and my nails drag._

_I do nothing but cry and cling to Plum. It hurts. Everything hurts. The face of my dying father. Burning flesh and smoke. Screams echoing around a castle that isn’t here. The screams and fear from each scar I got in the Deep Roads. No arms around me to stop it all. I don’t remember what my husband smells like. I can’t remember his voice, can’t recall how his arms feel. Alistair’s always been there when things like this happen, when living nightmares shove themselves in my face. But it’s happening all over again. I need my husband! I can’t do this, I can’t be a Grey Warden!_

_Plum nudges me and gives a gentle blow. I weave my fingers around his mane and hug him tight. I don’t have to command him so I can bring a stool over and climb. Plum wiggles out of my hold and bends his front knees; my horse is telling me to get on. He’ll take me away from here._

_Plum flies through the night. I have no saddle and his front legs are still wrapped, and the wind he makes whips cooling tears across my face. Far away. Far away from this place and its Howe. I’ll be well out of sight by daybreak._

_Coming here was never a good idea._

 

 

General Pádraig stared at Eirik, Benneit, Leith, and Ronson. “What do you mean, _‘she’s gone’?!”_

Leith and Ronson were two of the six elite guard on watch outside when Tesslyn screamed at Nathaniel Howe and fled Vigil’s Keep. Ronson apprehended Howe, and Leith, the next closest guard, chased his Queen. Ronson jerked Howe’s head back up by the hair.

“It’s too bloody dark out there, Captain. By the time I heard the horse, she was gone,” Leith reported.

Pádraig fumed. Almost four hours from daybreak still, and neither he nor his horse knew the Keep’s terrain. He would lose her by a day just trying to stay on the road.

They had not accounted for this. No Howe was supposed to turn up and set the Queen in a state of post-traumatic stress. King Alistair was meant to stay the one week to help them situate, then leave with the Keep under Tesslyn’s control. The Howe disrupted and reverted healing honed and nurtured the past four years. _This was all wrong._

The General’s fist flew before he could change his mind. “What did you say to her?” he demanded. When Howe did not answer, Pádraig squeezed his jaw and yanked him over. _“What did you say?”_ he repeated.

“Nothing.” This Howe had the nerve to lie to his face?

“The Queen does not run away in tears for nothing! _TELL ME WHAT YOU SAID, HOWE!”_

 _“Nothing!_ I asked where she got her scars! I said she was lucky it it didn’t take her eye. _She_ screamed at _me,_ not the other way around.”

Pádraig made a noise of disgust and drove his fist again. Drawing attention to her scars was the exact push to send Tesslyn over the edge with a Howe in her face. She was already depressing. “Lock him up,” he ordered. “Take his fucking clothes.” He glared as the Howe stood by force. “You don’t fucking speak to her again! Am I clear? You are a Warden _only_ to serve your traitor father’s sentence.”

“Or what? You’ll cut out my tongue?”

“No,” Pádraig laughed at his idea of punishment. “I will do _much_ worse. You can’t _imagine_ what lies in store if you overstep your bounds again.” Pádraig secured his sword and bow. He’d have to make do with light armor until he returned. “Eirik and Benneit, with me. Leith, wake Domhnall and Tavey to guard this hackit dobber.” *

Three dark horses taller than their riders galloped after two mabari who tracked the Queen’s scent and guided them in the night. _Back towards Denerim;_ she went home. Pádraig sighed and rode his steed faster. Alistair was not in Denerim. He could only imagine Tesslyn’s state when they found her.

Two days and one night on the Anderfels horses; though starting out at night when all three riders had no sleep meant they were already a day behind. The General and the Queen’s archers stopped only for food while the hounds and horses rested. Pádraig did not sleep. After waking Benneit to take watch, the General roused his steed and rode a head, forfeiting sleep to catch his Queen before sorrow caused a tragedy none could reverse.

Sobbing, clinging, wringing her bedding around herself; better than Pádraig expected. Queen Tesslyn rode home to find her husband only to depress further. She flew in muddy and drenched, stumbling through the halls till she found her quarters dark and cold, her bed empty. Servants nor Eamon could convince her to bathe or even take tea. Tesslyn had arrived only half a day before Pádraig, and had not moved from her bed since.

Pádraig had seen Alistair depressed and despairing. He’d seen walls erect when trust and friendship betrayed them. He’d seen Tesslyn and Alistair explode in anger and in fear. He saw fear and anger take both over till decorations flew and knuckles cracked on walls. Saw heartbreak turn them to sobbing mush. But now Pádraig saw it all; he hoped. What he hoped the past week was not a will to end what caused her pain showed evident in the pain that rang out with each sob. Pádraig suspected the only reason she had not taken her life was the hope her husband would return to save her.

Pádraig wasn’t sure most Generals needed to console their monarchs so often.

He closed the door behind him and pulled a chair by the roaring hearth. Damp with dew, Pádraig unbuckled his gloves to warm his stiff hands at the fire.

“Where is he?” in so much pain her voice broke like glass.

“Highever, remember? If he hasn’t already started off to Redcliffe.” Pádraig watched her. Sadness transformed her into a child every time. “We spoke about his plans half the week before he left.”

After a moment of silence, Tesslyn buried her face into the bed with a weakened sob and curled up smaller. _She’d forgotten._ The pressure of keeping face when a Howe tested strength after already struggling with her husband’s absence proved too much. It made her forget other priorities.

“We should stay here for the night. ’Haps even a few,” he advised. “Benneit and Eirik will be here soon.” He stood. “I’ll call for a bath and soup. I know it may not seem so right now, but both will do wonders, Tess.” Pádraig still wasn’t comfortable addressing her so. He wasn’t even sure it would make a difference for her now. “I _promise_ they will.” He stood with a sigh when she carried on. “I need to clean up, myself, then I’ll meet you for lunch. Agreed?”

Tesslyn did not answer. She tucked up tighter and pulled a pillow over her face. Fleeing duty to see her husband only put her farther away from him. Pádraig had no experience with this; the only woman he desired disappeared years ago without looking back. He wondered if this is what sons felt like when their fathers died. What could _he_ do to assure this woman who was supposed to have all the answers?

“Tess?” Pádraig pressed for a response. Still nothing. _“Tesslyn?”_ He’d neglected his own basic needs to reach her before anything rash occurred. He intended to ensure rash wasn’t an option. “I’m not asking, Tess. I’m telling you. You’ll bathe and eat, put on proper clothes. This can’t go on. Alistair will all but _explode_ if he comes home to find you’ve refused to bathe and eat. And your _bed_ is filthy.” Pádraig gestured with a sigh to her bed clothes. “This is no way for a Queen to be.”

“I don’t want to go back!”

“That arse is locked up. You won’t see him.”

“Not just that.” She dragged a blanket across her eyes. “I don’t want to be a Grey Warden.

“So don’t be a Grey Warden,” he suggested. “Go back there as _Queen.”_ This was what turned her head. She peeked at him with one eye. “You and I still have duties, there. Alistair won’t be back for a almost a month.” Pádraig shrugged. “We might as well get back there and prove to that coward _you_ were _right.”_

She shook her head, eyes watering all over again. “I can’t look at him. I can’t go back there, especially as _his_ Commander.”

 _“So be his Queen,”_ he repeated. “He’ll test you _more_ if he think you’re just his angry cousin Commander. _Be the Queen again._ Order his arse around; much more dire consequences for disobeying a Queen. You’ve got _me_ and _twelve_ men at your command _at all times_ whenever it overwhelms. I’m sure Zev would love a chance at him, as well. He was there for Rendon Howe’s death, wasn’t he?” He rubbed his hands together and took a full breath. “We’ll talk about this later, yes? For now, a bath. And you **_are_ ** eating with me. No more of this sleepless-nights stuff. You did that enough in the Deep Roads. Right now: bath, food, proper clothes. No _buts_ or _I can’ts,_ Your Majesty.”

His motivational speech didn’t work like Pádraig wanted. Tesslyn bathed and dressed, attempted to eat - stirred her soup between shots of Alistair’s favorite whiskey. She accepted a strong sleep draught. In the morning, she agreed to go back to Vigil’s Keep. Tesslyn wanted to stay for another day, to gather some of Alistair’s things to take with her. But her mood did not improve from when she fled the Keep. Pádraig knew why: even if she controlled Howe, devoting her time to Warden chores meant focusing on the reason she still had nightmares. Discovering how darkspawn surprised and kidnapped the Orlesian Wardens was still priority. Darkspawn - the monsters who haunted her dreams - would _always_ be her priority. A difficult task magnified by a breathing reminder her family was murdered.

Pádraig didn’t know how to motivate through that. At least with the Archdemon, an end was in sight. With any luck, they would be done with all this Warden stuff and return to a normal, predictable, _calm_ life at the palace.

 

 

 

_It feels as foreboding as before. An armored gown instead of the Warden armor I wore to the Landsmeet. Tiara sparkling on my head, fur-lined cape at my back, riding in as Queen instead of Commander; Pádraig insisted. But I don’t feel any better about this._

_Vigil’s Keep is a place where nightmares cease to be dreams of the past and walk with a pulse. Nightmares don’t disappear just because one puts on a tiara._

_Pádraig lines the throne room with_ **my** _new Wardens and the Keep’s staff, including Seneschal Varel and the treasurer from Weisshaupt. I stand before them all, dressed like a Queen; as Pádraig insisted. Nathaniel Howe stands between my guard, no chains but marks on his wrist and his face. He does not look happy to see me._

_“Who can tell me who this is?” Pádraig paces between me and my small audience._

_“Is this a trick question?” Zevran asks. He doesn’t seem happy to be left out of the loop._

_“Not a trick question.” Pádraig shook his head, turning sharp to continue pacing the other way, hands clasped behind his back. He’s picked up some of Alistair’s courtroom habits. “Anyone, everyone -_ **someone** _better answer.”_

_“The Queen and Warden-Commander of Ferelden.” Varel stands tall, also unsure what Pádraig aims for._

_“Close.” Pádraig glances at me. “Tesslyn Theirin is the Queen. That is_ **all** _she is.”_

_“If she is not the Commander, Weisshaupt needs to be informed,” Treasurer Woolsey speaks up._

_“The First Warden and his company are not welcome in Ferelden,” I tell her. My voice projects more than I want it to. Makes me sound more confident than I feel. “You nor anyone will write to him. He cannot be trusted.”_

**“No exceptions,”** _Pádraig adds. He pauses to observe. “Her Majesty is not here as Commander of the Grey. She is here as Queen to oversee the_ **making** _of a Commander. However, she is_ **still in charge.** _Only the King has more say than Queen Tesslyn, and the_ **King** _has left her in charge of the Wardens of Ferelden. The_ **purpose** _of Vigil’s Keep is to train a Warden to become Commander of the Grey_ **in** _Her Majesty’s stead-”_

 **“Anyone?”** _Nathaniel interrupts. My jaw tightens. He’s doing this deter us._

_“Yes.” Pádraig stares at him. “Anyone. Since you seem interested, Nathaniel Howe, tell me: How should Her Majesty be addressed?”_

_“How did I know this ceremony was for me?” Nathaniel scoffs and looks away._

_“Answer me, Howe.”_

_Nathaniel gives Pádraig a lazy glare. “The proper acknowledgement for the Queen of Ferelden is Your Majesty. Or in our case, Queen Tesslyn.”_

_“Correct. You will all remember this.” Pádraig looks from face to face._ **“No** _one is exempt from this. She is the Queen, and she will be_ **treated** _as the Queen. What she says is law. Seneschal, you will write to the Arling’s vassals and_ **remind** _them of this. There is also the matter of discussion: at the palace, we have certain subjects we do not mention. These are_ **vital** _to the well-being of Their Majesties, especially_ **Her** _Majesty. Avoidance of these topics helps maintain a positive atmosphere so Their Majesties do not recall the horrors they endured as Grey Wardens. Their vitality is_ **imperative** _to the country thriving. Without King Alistair and Queen Tesslyn guiding this country, it would fall in flames, and_ **no** _amount of Wardens could prevent or stop it. If the Wardens are to succeed here as rulers of Vigil’s Keep, all of you present in this room_ **must** _cooperate with Her Majesty.”_

 _“And what does that mean for_ **me** **,** _then? She forces me to join this forsaken Order, then abandons her post?” Nathaniel never fucking stops._

 _“She is_ **not** _abandoning her post. Her_ **_post_ ** _is the_ **entire country.** _The Grey Wardens of Ferelden_ **still** _answer to the Queen. What this means for_ **you,** _Nathaniel,” Pádraig stops pacing, “is the_ **severity** _of your punishment should you disobey.” His eyes travel the room. “You_ **all** _answer to the Queen.” Back to Nathaniel. “When the Queen says ‘Jump,’ you don’t ask ‘How High,’ you_ **just jump.** _You jump without question like your_ **life** _depends on it. Because it_ **may.”**

_“And what guarantee do I have she won’t raise her standards for ‘How High’ while I am in mid-jump?” Nathaniel’s glare shifts from Pádraig to me._

_“You_ **don’t.** _The_ **Queen’s standards** _are her_ **own** _business. Right now, I know of_ **only one** _man who_ **meets** _those standards. I advise you_ **observe** _King Alistair when he returns and do your best to_ **treat** _Queen Tesslyn_ **as the King does.** _Now, on to the forbidden topics: …”_

_Nathaniel Howe stares at me while Pádraig recites what we avoid at the palace. His glare hardens when Pádraig mentions Scars._

_I can’t read Nathaniel unless he’s screaming at me. I can’t tell if he’s already plotting to overthrow me for all the regulations Pádraig will reinforce without hesitation._

_With Nathaniel’s skill walking amongst shadows, I may not be able to stop him if he wants revenge._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	8. Chastise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accepting Nathaniel Howe is not easy for Tess. A trip to the city distracts her from Alistair's absence, but also sprouts seeds of suspicion when Nathaniel reaches out and tries to accept his fate as Grey Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Rolling in the Deep, by Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw)

_"Take me with you.”_

_Not fucking again. “Go away, Nathaniel. I’m not going anywhere.” I’m sitting in a narrow watchtower atop the Keep. My bottle is half-empty and it’s a new moon tonight; bloody dark out here. For certain I’m not going anywhere._

_“When you go to Amaranthine. I don’t wish to be left behind. You said my sister is there, I want find her.”_

_“I don’t recall you two getting along. I also recall Pádraig ordering you to address me properly.”_

_“I grew up with you. What am I supposed to do? Change my memory?”_

_“It hasn’t stopped your new ideas about my parents. And I swear to the fucking Maker, if you sneak up on me one more fucking time I will sew a torch on you!”_

_“I don’t sneak on purpose. I_ **prefer** _the night, it happens to be_ **dark** _at night, and this is the only time those men don’t trail you like lost dogs. I don’t appreciate their threats every two minutes.” A moment of silence while I drink and roll my eyes. Then Nathaniel swings from a rafter and lands right next to me._

_“Nathaniel!” My eyes bulge with my nerves._

_“What are you drinking?” he asks._

_“You can’t have any.” I hold the bottle away._

_“Do I get_ **any** _of the alcohol in this place?”_

_“You need to buy your own.”_

_“Did my father leave reserves? Do I get_ **those?”**

 _“I don’t know! I brought my_ **own** _drink.” I almost can’t see him; only a faint outline of a face and hair from torches below. “You can’t go look yourself?”_

_“I went into the basement. I found no alcohol. Do I get paid so I can buy my own drink?”_

_“Talk to the lords about their taxes.”_

_Nathaniel doesn’t speak for a while. It’s so quiet I hear a dim chime from a pocket hourglass from one of my guards on the battlements beyond us._

_I dare to peek over. Nathaniel stares straight ahead, tiny glares in his eyes. Sitting. Staring. Slouching. His fingers drum an almost silent beat to music I can’t hear. Relaxed._

_He sits like someone spending time with someone else. Not like someone waiting to strike in vengeance._

_A rough scoff rolls up from my throat. I grimace at civility and hold the bottle out. I feel the curiosity from his eyes. Calloused fingertips graze my hand as he takes the bottle from me; typical rogue hands._

_“Thank you.” A little noise as he drinks, and again as he exhales. I peek at his faint silhouette. He’s trying to read the bottle in the dark. Nathaniel take another drink before passing my rum back. “I found letters in the basement. About your family.”_

_My head snaps back to him._

_“From my father and someone I don’t know.” He hesitates with a deep breath. “What happened exactly? All I heard was your family was killed.”_

_“Pádraig warned you not to talk about my family,” I remind him. I wipe my sleeve on the mouth of the bottle before drinking._

_“I don’t care. I want to talk about it. I need to know what happened.”_

_“You don’t_ **need** _to know, Nathaniel, you’re being fucking difficult.”_

_“How am I being difficult?” As if I insulted him._

_“Just like when you stared at my scar.”_

_“I didn’t know about your scars. All right? And what I mean by that is, I didn’t know it was a forbidden subject,” he insists. “Every man I’ve met with scars tells a proud tale. I assumed_ **you** _had one also.”_

_“Don’t assume you know me.”_

_“I_ **used** _to know you. And until I know for sure that Delilah is alive, you are all the family I have left.”_

 _“You and I are not actually related, Nathaniel.” I drink long and deep._ **“Arl Bryland** _is your_ **real** _uncle, though. You should meet his daughter Habren. She’s a lot like you.”_

_“No Bryland considers me family. They disowned my mother for marrying my father.”_

_“Shame.”_

_“I want to know what happened, Tesslyn. The letters… made me question what my father told me. It sounds like he planned something for months. I_ **need** _to know what happened.”_

_A frown begins to hurt my eyes. “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to think about that.”_

_“Not even to help me understand_ **why** _you killed my father?” He’s staring at me again._

_“You can’t ask me to relive that. Not now, not ever. I told you enough the night I found you locked up.”_

_“Fine.” His voice is hard, disapproving. I don’t care._

_Nathaniel’s hand juts out for my bottle. I make another face and leave the mouth slobbery for him._

_He makes a noise of disgust. “That’s revolting.” He drinks anyway, a few long drinks. Stalling the night to savor my rum. “Are those your_ **husband’s** _clothes?”_

_“Why do you ask so many damn questions?!”_

_He’s quiet for a moment. “I am trying to understand this world I’ve been thrust into.”_

_“You only ask questions about_ **me.”**

 **“You’re** _the one who_ **put** _me in this world. And as much as either of us dislike the notion, you are_ **part** _of my new world. I have two choices, don’t I? Struggle and fight you the rest of my life, or try to make the best of it. I am trying to make peace with this. Until today, I had no idea you don’t like talking about your scars. I don’t know unless you tell me. I’m_ **asking** _you to_ **teach** _me.”_

_Teach._

_I came here to teach._

_No. No! He’s only asking about_ **me,** _not how to be a Grey Warden! This is_ **not** _some sign from the Maker! No fucking chance!_

 _“You_ **asked** _if I’m wearing my husband’s_ **clothes.** _How does that help you make peace with being a Grey Warden?”_

 _“It will help me understand_ **you.** _Your_ **bodyguard** _made it very clear, today, that I will report to_ **you** _the rest of my life.” He drinks more of my rum before finally returning it. “You seem to have an unhealthy attachment to your husband.”_

 _My scoff carries._ **“I** _have an unhealthy attachment? Look who’s talking! You and all the_ **shit** _you believe because your father_ **said** _so! No one_ **else** _said so.”_

 _“Which is why I asked you the_ **truth** _of what happened,” Nathaniel says. “But I_ **do** _think you’re too attached to Alistair. In the Free Marches, they call it Separation Anxiety. It’s normally associated with children.”_

 _“Alistair has been there for me since I was dragged from my home and became a Warden. He talked me off a fucking_ **ledge,** _Nathaniel. He’s the only one who knows how to calm me. I haven’t been apart from him since I met him.”_

 _“See,_ **that** _helps me understand. Not a lot, but it helps.” He leans back on his hands. “So wearing his night clothes… is for what purpose?”_

_“So I can smell him.”_

_“Truly? You like the way men smell? That’s… a bit disturbing. I_ **hate** _the smell of other men.”_

_“Only my husband.”_

_Silent night air surrounds us again. I sip and drink, and sip again before passing the bottle over._

_“When did you learn you were a mage?” he asks; far too much curiosity in his voice._

_“I’m not.”_

_Nathaniel lets out a laugh. “You set my shirt on fire in the prison. You set_ **Anders** _on fire in the_ **training** _yard.”_

 _“The Archdemon did that to me. When I killed it. Wardens who kill Archdemon’s aren’t… supposed to_ **survive** _killing them…”_

_“Then how did you?”_

_Morrigan sitting on the edge of my bed in Redcliffe flashes in my mind; ‘I cannot repay you any other way,’ she’d said._

_“I don’t know.”_

_“You hesitated.”_

_“I don’t know_ **why** _I’m alive. There are_ **countless** _possibilities. Many of them happened that night. I don’t know_ **which** _one let me live.”_

_“Of course. And… who is Morrigan? Your bodyguard said I wasn’t allowed to bring her up, either. But you both flinched when he said her name.” He pauses. “So who is she?”_

_I take a long drink to stall. “A possibility.”_

_“A friend?”_

_“Once upon a time.”_

_“Now the thread begins to unravel,” Nathaniel thinks aloud._

_“There is no thread left of me, Nathaniel. My scars have seen to that.”_

_“Did my father give you any scars?”_

_“I don’t remember. Not on my skin, anyway.”_

_He’s quiet again. Leans forward to tilt his head towards the black sky. The stars shine down but give no light to the ground. “Did my father suffer?” he repeats his question from the night he Joined._

_I look at him from the side of my eye._

_“You’re hesitating again.”_

**“Yes** _he_ **did,”** _I admit. “I was_ **distraught** _and sought_ **vengeance.** _Of_ **course** _he suffered. I’ll spare you the details.”_

_Nathaniel wets his mouth, then nods. I see a trace of his blinking eyelashes. “Thank you for being honest.”_

_“There is no room for gratitude in what happened to_ **either** _of our parents.”_

_“I agree. But I prefer truth to lies.”_

_“So do I.”_

_“Am I allowed to accompany you to Amaranthine tomorrow?” he asks._

_I pause to think. “You’re a Warden, Nathaniel. You don’t need my permission to visit town.”_

_“Then will you call off your guard? It’s not easy tracking you down in the dark. I’d like freedom to approach you during the day.”_

_“No. They’re my guard for a reason. They know what to watch for so they can take me away from things that escalate me. They’re supposed to... anyway...”_

_“Eventually someone will catch me meeting you in the dark. They will talk. And your husband will come for my head.”_

_I groan. “Did you plan that line?”_

_“No,” he chuckles. “But it’s true. It’s what happens in noble houses.”_

_“Nathaniel, I_ **don’t** _want to be friends with you. That sneer you do is_ **just** _like your father’s,_ **and** _you have his nose. I_ **trusted** _him my_ **whole life** _and he_ **devastated** _my home. He said --_ **very unkind things** _about my parents when I last saw him. I_ **can’t** _be your_ **friend.** _I see more of him in you each day, even when you don’t scowl.”_

_“I can’t help how I was born.”_

**“I** _can’t help what_ **he** _chose to_ **do** _to me.”_

_Nathaniel hangs his head and rakes his hair. He stares ahead, holding his hair to the back of his neck. His breath is long and deep. “So how do we survive each other?”_

 

 

 

_“This city has let itself go.” A familiar husky drawl says next to me._

_I roll my eyes and push Nathaniel away without even looking._

_“What did I do now?” He glares at me after balancing himself._

_“Why am I not surprised you followed us?” Pádraig eyes him as if Nathaniel might rob us and run any second._

_“I was given permission to come and go as I please,” Nathaniel retorts._

_Pádraig’s eyes fall flat on me and he sighs. “After all that?”_

_“I never_ **ask** _him to sneak up on me!” I frown and look away. “It’s not_ **my** _sodding fault he remembers how to skulk around his fucking childhood home.”_

_“Monarchy has taught you unique dialect,” Nathaniel observes._

_“Piss off.”_

_Pádraig stops me by the arm. “Wait.”_

_I sigh again. “No, Pád, not right now. Please? I need to find answers, not scare away potential people who’ll talk for coin.”_

_“And I’ll chase down anyone who refuses to aid their Queen.” Pádraig takes a deep breath, then bellows a masculine command that sounds more like a string of noises. My guard snaps into attention with their signature resounding response and file half and half on either side of an invisible walkway._

_“MAKE WAY FOR HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN OF FERELDEN!” Eirik’s voice trumpets and brays an array of attention straight to me. Noise and motion as far as I can see halts and stares._

_“Impressive.” Nathaniel says from next to me._

_“I’ll say,” Anders pipes up._

_“You should see when all twenty-four of them do it,” I say. “It gets sodding_ **loud.”**

 _“Do they_ **always** _do this?” Anders peers around me for a better view._

_“More or less.” Zevran rocks his head. He wedges between Pádraig and me and holds out his arm with a bow. “Allow me the honors.”_

_“Kiss-arse,” Pádraig mutters with a smirk as I take the arm I’m offered._

_Zevran sighs. “What do I always tell you, Pádraig? Not now, after dinner.” Oghren gives his drunken chuckle with ‘Gross’, and a snort comes out before I can help it. Zevran pats my hand with a smile._ **“That** _is our Queen.”_

_“It’s nothing but an inappropriate nanny service. You have a racy nanny service.” Nathaniel catches my glare. He looks decisive on this thought._

**“You:** _get the fuck out of our sight. You will_ **not** _ruin Her Majesty’s day out.” Pádraig points at him with his eyes._

_“You won’t see me.” Nathaniel holds up his hands and strides away from formation._

_It is strange being back in this city without my husband. Alistair did most the talking last time. Now, two years later, I am the center of attention - another thing I loathe. With our full guard plus my brother and Teagan and a pack of mabari, I imagine we looked too intimidating to approach. I must not seem so intimidating now, even with Oghren, Anders, and Zevran with us. Beggars filling in space between houses outside the city gates cry at me. Over the sound of my guards’ clanking armor, I hear the pleas: shouts for me to make the city guard let them in, asking for alms. Little different than attending weekly mass at the city Chantry in Denerim; it’s why the palace has a private Chantry._

_Pádraig nods to Blaire, the young maid who rose in station to my private handmaiden by witnessing my unnatural, accidental magic at supper years ago. He holds up one finger. “One each,” he tells her. Blaire nods before turning away with a bag of sovereigns. I feel anxious for her;_ _the sight of coin sometimes drives city squatters to violence, and Blaire is tiny._

 _“Does_ **this** _always happen?” Anders watches in concern as we pass everyone._

_“No,” I shake my head. “This didn’t happen last time I was here.”_

_An approaching gate guard reprimands another for already accusing the Queen of smuggling. Anders snorts to stop a giggle. I don't know whether to take offense or laugh it off aloud. I’ve never been accused of smuggling before;_ **that** _is a story for my husband._

_Whenever I’ll next see him._

_The scolding man introduces himself as Aidan, Constable of the city guard. The beggars are refugees, not the resident squatters; hence the wailing. Aidan tells us smugglers have been paying off the refugees to sneak goods into the city - weapons, poisons. As the Queen, I am the only one not searched for smuggled goods._

_“Refugees? From what?” I ask. There were no refugees when Alistair and I stopped through here after my coronation. “Did something happen and no one tell us?”_

_The Constable looks from me to my party with extreme concern. “The crown doesn’t know?_ **Darkspawn,** _Your Majesty.”_

_Darkspawn._

_Of course._

_Running Vigil’s Keep as_ **Queen** _doesn’t stop Grey Wardens duties from interfering, either._

_Darkspawn ravage the surface over half the arling for months; before Orlais’ Wardens arrived at Vigil’s Keep. Farmland is dying, the Constable tells me, soldiers are disappearing, civilians disappear. Caravans are attacked from the Wending Wood to the Knotwood Hills. Taint poisons the arling as if the Blight never ended, when the Blight never reached Amaranthine before._

_Pádraig means well by insisting I act as Queen and not Commander. But it does not make a difference. I still have to be Commander. To be the Queen I must - the Queen my husband needs - I don’t have a choice, now, but to also play Warden-Commander._

_There’s no turning back. Not fucking ever._

_Those who die during the Joining have no idea how fucking lucky they are._

_I don’t even know where to start. Seneschal Varel said two miners who found a darkspawn gathering were rumored here in the city, but he gave no names. Trying a tavern won’t work; it’s damn near impossible getting sound information from a drunk._

_Anders knows where the Wending Wood is, says he’s been through there a couple times. “A good place to hide from Templars, for a while at least,” he says with a shrug. Pádraig is familiar with it as well._ _Oghren came across nothing out of the ordinary journeying to Vigil’s Keep, though he recalls no darkspawn west of Knotwood Hills_ _. Zevran saw no darkspawn on his last return to the palace._

_A silent glare says Zevran worries Morrigan’s Dark Ritual might be fruiting. I thought the same when we arrived at the Keep. I suspect all who know also wonder. Their worry feels only like validation of my own._

_Pádraig sends Blaire back around to find the men who found the chasm of darkspawn. After her third inquiry, he sends Domhnall with her to threaten those who demand more coin. But that’s where our collective cunning stops. Ideas here and there only offer solutions down the road, not now when we need closure. Some of my guard has hunted in the Wending Wood. When Alistair returns, the full guard can split again and a third can lead an investigation. Anders suggests the Chantry may have open bounties or Chanters Board jobs that lead us in more specific directions, though he insists it’s a last resort. We stand huddled between my guard, no answers and no idea where to start but a ripe notion of risk ahead of us no matter where we turn._

_Already a turn of the sun and we are still not past the damned gates. If this takes much longer, the moon will rise._

**This** _is why Wardens need training. I have no clue what rights to invoke to get cooperation right now. Even as Queen. And what is there to invoke as a Grey Warden that won’t injure the Crown?_

_Blaire and Domhnall return with no avail. Pádraig sighs and offers to ask with his sword; Zevran offers to sneak behind with his daggers. But a Queen threatening death to starving afflicted refugees who refuse to help does not reap answers. The starving and aching welcome death to more distress. It’s one of the first things my parents taught me when they thought I would marry Alistair’s elder brother. My people cannot listen to instruction or laws when empty stomachs bleat louder._

_The idea comes to me same time Anders suggests it: bribe someone with food. When I look at him, he only shrugs; “Was only an idea. Bribes work in the Circle all the time.” Thought drops my brow and I shake my finger for my dangerous men to wait._ _I know the perfect person._

 _“The angry voice. Ten gold and supper for the miners,” I tell Blaire with a nod toward_ _the refugees._

_Blaire nods and picks up the hem of her dress, and steps out ahead of us. A young, narrow girl; looks like she can’t speak above a whisper without breaking a bone. Blaire takes a deep breath and stiffens for the roar:_

_“TEN SOVERIGNS AND A FULLY BELLY TO HE WHO FETCHES THE MINERS OF THE DARKSPAWN CHASM!!” Such a tiny thing with a voice like the punch of a Fereldan strongman. Her face is adorable scrunched up like that._

_“She could replace all the herald horns, no?” Zevran nudges me._

_“Dead or alive?” someone yells back._

_Is that fool serious?? “ALIVE!! Maker!” I scold._

_“Alistair would be proud,” Pádraig mumbles._

_“That’s one way to do it,” Anders chuckles._

_It takes no time for two men two approach me - after a tangle of the impoverished who sought to reach me first. A human and an elf; one drunk enough to proposition me. Pádraig opens his mouth, but Nathaniel’s voice sounds instead:_

_“I wouldn’t push my luck, if I were you.”_

_My shoulders drop in a sigh and I roll my eyes. Does he get off doing this to me? I dare to look at him. Nathaniel stands just past me with his arms over his chest._

_“Who are you, her husband?” the drunk human hiccups with a grin._

_“I’m her_ **cousin.”** _Nathaniel’s eyes narrow. “Save your gold,” he advises me. “There are easier ways to get information from a drunk.” What the sod is this? Did Nathaniel hit his head?_

 _I share a glance of question with Pádraig, who shrugs his brows in reply. Though he adds to Nathaniel’s threat: “My sword would do the trick. It takes_ **days** _to die of a single stab wound.”_

 _“You’re lucky the_ **King** _didn’t hear you proposition his_ **wife.”** _Nathaniel still glares at the drunk. “I’d wager your body wouldn’t know it lost its head yet.”_

_So much for diplomacy._

_I want to hide. Things are so much easier when Alistair directs everything for me. Threats are seldom necessary with him; his appearance is threatening enough for most._

_Their warning works, though. The drunk hands over a map of the Arling marked where the chasm sits, now more sober than a moment ago. I give the miners my promised gold anyway and send another servant to buy them meals at an inn._

_“You shouldn’t do that.” Nathaniel stares after the miners and the Keep’s servant. “They’ll come back begging in droves.” He meets my eyes._

_“I set clear rules, Howe.” Pádraig stares at him while sheathing his huge sword. “You address her as the Queen.”_

_Nathaniel glares back. “I just_ **defended** _the Queen.”_

_“What are you doing here?” I ask. “What is it you want now?”_

_“I must_ **want** _something to be a gentleman against unwanted suitors?” He pauses. “I_ **told** _you, I am trying to make the best of my fate.”_

_“You’re hesitating,” I mimic him from last night._

_Nathaniel takes a deep breath, then frowns, then raises his brows in question and looks in my eyes. “Have the lords paid their dues yet?”_

_“No…”_

_“Then may I borrow forty silver?” Nathaniel Howe asks me before holding his breath._

_“I knew it.” I shake my head with a heavy sigh._

_“What was that about begging?” Pádraig mocks._

**“What?”** _Nathaniel looks from either of us like we’re not playing fair. “You just gave a ten sovereigns to a_ **drunk** _who asked to_ **bed** _you for nothing but a map we could have found on our own. And you want to chastise_ **me** _for a mere_ **forty silver?”**

_I don’t want to acknowledge his point. He’s a grown man. Every sovereign in the royal vault, Alistair and me earned without our own efforts. Half of it came from our horrific ventures during the Blight; the other half, our skill in governing. Nathaniel chose to return to the country with no coin._

_“Why do you need forty silver?” Pádraig eyes him._

_“Are you serious?” Nathaniel glances off toward the drunk miners, then back at us in disbelief. “I’ve located my sister, I’d_ **like** _to buy her_ **flowers** **.** _I_ **also** _need a bow and arrows if we’re to fight darkspawn in a chasm that snuck up on drunk men.”_

_“How the fuck will you shoot anything with a bow that cheap?” I ask; worse than going in with naught but fists._

_“Apparently I’ll have to make do with cheaper.” Nathaniel shakes his head and turns away with a wave. “Nevermind. You’ve made your point. I’ll see you back at_ **your** _Keep in a day or two.”_

_I watch him walk away with a growing pang in my gut. Pádraig’s eyes bore hole on me. He’s about to lecture me for giving in to Nathaniel already though I haven’t done it yet._

_“You’re getting soft,” Pádraig instead tells me. Not what I expected._

 

 

 _“Where’s your_ **nanny?”**

 _“Nathaniel, I_ **tire** _of this.” I sit back and look for him. I can’t see anything in the shadows behind the table before me. The candle below my eyes doesn’t help._

 **“I** _was here_ **first.”**

_“I thought you were visiting your sister?”_

_“I_ **was.”**

 _“Great, another one of_ **those** _discussions. You could have just said nothing. I would have been well without your utter ire for no reason.”_

 _“No reason? I ask to_ **borrow** _less than half a sovereign and you_ **deny** _me, then let your nanny insult me. But you have no issues handing out alms to squatters and tossing ten gold to a drunk who’ll only waste it. He’s already lost_ **six,** _by the way._ **I** _intend to_ **repay** _my dues. And meeting Delilah did little good. Everything she told me_ **should** _have changed my mind about you and my father. But_ **you’re** _just as grudging as she says_ **he** _was. As you say_ **I** _am.”_

_I glare into the black corner where his voice comes from. Then I shake my head. “Nathaniel, I’m busy.” I turn back to my letter. But there are huge splotches where my quill dripped and bled like tiny squashed spiders. I can’t read half the words anymore._

__

_I glare again at Nathaniel the shadow._

_“You ought to investigate Warden Kristoff’s room while you’re here,_ **Commander.”**

 _“My father would be_ **so** _proud of you right now, Nathaniel.”_

_“And mine you.”_

_But his mention of the Warden makes me think for a moment. Seneschal Varel said Kristoff had a lead on darkspawn activity. “His room is_ **here?”** _I ask._

_Nathaniel leans out of the shadows to slide a brass key across my table. His eyes are locked on mine. “Straight down the hall.”_

_My brows fall. “Where did you get this?”_

_“Pick-pocketed the owner.”_

_“Nathaniel.” I roll my eyes._

_“I didn’t have coin to bribe him with.”_

_I roll my eyes again and stand, grabbing my ruined letter. “Try not to draw attention to such habits, yes?”_

_The door swings open with a creak almost not heard over the tavern noise. The hearth is awake, candles lit, but bed untouched. A book lies open on a small table at the hearth couch._

_A masculine hand braces the old wooden door without sound and opens it further. Nathaniel’s raven hair and his inherited nose come into view near my shoulder._

_“You left the book open? Sloppy.”_

_“It wasn’t me,” he says. “I didn’t touch anything but the door.” He nods towards the map ahead. “Blackmarsh.”_

_Wonderful. Blackmarsh has been haunted and cursed for generations. “That’s almost better than your basement leading to the Deep Roads,” I mutter._

_“And just what do you think you’re doing? This room is off-limits!”_

_Nathaniel and I turn to find a young woman without her underclothes beneath a tight patchwork dress. Bosoms all but tumble out. I straighten and clamp my hand over Nathaniel’s eyes._

_“Will you stop that!” he leans away with a frown, shoving my hand. It’s harder not to smile than I expected._

_“Beat it, I said!” the ample lass tries to order us._

_“I don’t think so. I have business here,” I tell her._

_“Oh, of course. You and every other thief!”_

_I accuse Nathaniel with my eyes, though he shakes his head. “He never saw me,” he insists of whom he stole the key from._

_I give the young thing my Queen-smile and clasp my hands. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll make sure no thieves enter.”_

_“That includes you!” She juts her arm toward the tavern noise. “Get!"_

_“I’m not a thief.” I pause. “This is Warden Kristoff’s room, is it not?”_

_“Aye, but you can’t-”_

_“I’m his Commander._ **And** _your Queen.” I gesture to the diamonds on my head._

_The girl’s eyes go wide before falling so deep in a bow her bosoms break free. I clamp my hand over Nathaniel’s eyes again and turn us both around._

_“Enough of that!” he swats my hand away. I can’t bite back a smirk this time._

_“Close the door. There are more than enough bosoms between the two of us.”_

_“She’ll talk, you know.” He closes the door anyway._

_“And no one will listen with those… massive things… in their face.” I pick up the book before the couch. “I can’t figure you, Nathaniel. One moment you’re bitter, the next you try to help, then you blame me again.”_

_“You do it too. You’re being civil now.”_

_“I’m losing my will to care about anything.” It’s harder to care the longer I don’t have my husband._

_“That’s not a good quality in a Queen.”_

_“I wasn’t aware you’d make a better one. I’ll be sure to give you a turn.”_

_I almost hear his eyes roll. “Why would Grey Wardens be interested in a haunted marsh?” he changes the subject._

_“That’s a good question._ **I** _don’t care about a haunted marsh.” I join him at the map. Pins mark two area maps. Blackmarsh is one target. Another pin marks the Knotwood Hills west of Vigil’s Keep._

_“I’m not surprised.”_

_I tilt my head to read scribbles on the map_ _. Heavy or light spawn activity; nothing otherwise revealing. But the location of the Knotwood Hills pin looks familiar._ _“I am terrified of the Fade, Nathaniel. Whatever is haunted has had its Veil thinned. I dislike magic as it is, but a thin Veil is a nightmare.” I pull out the map the drunk miner gave me and unfold it, then align below Kristoff’s map. Nathaniel reads my mind - unnerving - and draws a line straight down with his finger. “The Fade likes to remind me I was broken long before I became a Grey Warden.”_

_“Those miners actually found something?” Nathaniel asks as his finger gives way to mine. I’m glad he doesn’t ask me to clarify what the Fade does to me._

_“Grab that quill.” Kristoff’s pin is on target with the loop the drunk miner drew._

_I scribble a set of small rings where my finger was. “Looks like ten sovereigns were worth it.” I glance at him, expecting a reaction._

_“And a Warden’s notes mean nothing?” he dismisses it._

_“I don’t trust other Wardens. None of them helped me and Alistair during the Blight.” I blow the ink dry and fold up my map. “In fact, the First Warden came all the way from Weisshaupt to tell me I killed the Archdemon wrong.”_

_“You’re bluffing.”_

_“He probably wishes I am.” I glance again before shoving a stack of gold in his hand. “I need to find Pádraig.” His eyes follow me to the door._

_My feet stop in mid-step as I exit the room. Pádraig. Waiting for me against the wall with his arms over his chest. He has that stern-nanny look about him again._

_“What did I tell you?” Nathaniel says. From the corner of my eye, I see him kneel before the locked chest in Kristoff’s room._

_Pádraig isn’t even blinking. I can almost see my husband’s name all over his face._

_“I’m surprised this hasn’t come up already._ **No,** _Pádraig,” I tell him._

_Pádraig shakes his head at me, brows raised like he caught me in a grope. Disappointed already and I have not considered touching Nathaniel that way. “I don’t want to find you’re lying.”_

_“You really read each other’s minds? That’s only slightly disturbing,” Nathaniel comments._

_“Look, I closed the door because that copious woman kept distracting Nathaniel,” I fib to my General._

_Nathaniel huffs. “You’re starting to feel like family again.”_

_I roll my eyes._ **“Fine.** _I didn’t want the girl snooping. And I didn’t want her_ **breasts** _all over me. She came out of her dress when she bowed,” I mutter._

_Pádraig pushes off the wall, looking me up and down. I let him turn me around to check for loose seams and untied strings. “The Chantry has extra beds,” he says; a final decision to sleep where he can ensure I sleep alone. I understand I am not allowed to dispute his decision. It will do no good to insist I am not attracted to a man I grew up considering my father’s brother’s son._

_Pádraig takes Kristoff’s journal from me and flips to the most recent entry. His face distorts, changing him in a blink from disappointed nanny to little brother who got tricked into extra chores._ **“Blackmarsh?** _We have to go to fucking_ **Blackmarsh?”** _Glaring at me like How Dare This Queen._

 _“Good thing_ **one** _of us is trying to make the best of things.” Nathaniel puts a book in my hands on his way past. He hooks the dagger on his belt, then turns and walks backwards, bowing deep. “The Crown is most generous today.”_

 _Pádraig glares at me again as Nathaniel clinks and clanks the gold I gave him. My General shakes his head with a warning: “That man is going to_ **trample** _you.”_

_No worse than what his father did to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	9. Amend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the Keep sets depression in again, but Tesslyn's guard lets her down. Nathaniel takes a leap of faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Rolling in the Deep, by Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw)  
> Archery practice: [Audiemus, by Audiemus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thokRiugln4)

**Tess:**

_Returning to Vigil’s Keep only sinks my heart again. Just as playing Queen does not make Grey Warden duties more tolerable, spending a day in the city doesn’t lift the mournful aura of the Keep. This is the place my husband left me. A downpour before I reach the Keep doors makes my return even less desirable._

_What is there to occupy me here? My former cousin who is trying to be friends though I’ve said his very face reminds me of his father who murdered my family? Or go over Warden Kristoff’s notes? My choices are Nathaniel or the Darkspawn? And I can’t even feel him yet, this place is devoid of Taint. I must choose between being alone and reliving nightmares?_

_Everywhere I look I am reminded this is the place_ **my husband sent me away** _to._

 

 

 

**Nathaniel:**

_This not where I grew up._

_While the buildings have not changed, the atmosphere I remember has changed_ **too** _much. Tension hangs in the air like a damp sheet. A different kind of tension than my cousin carries._

_I don’t want to believe Delilah’s account of our father, about him growing mad and bitter and torturing anyone who disagreed with him. I don’t want to believe he murdered the Couslands, that he planned their deaths and played them for fools for years. Our families were friends - my father and hers, brothers. Who plans corruption that mad against their brother? It doesn’t make sense. When I was chained in my own dungeon, I believed to the core my father was right about Tesslyn all along. I believed, by helping Fergus keep an eye on her years ago in the Free Marches, that I aided Tesslyn killing my father._

_But now…? Now what? Between the letters I found in the cellar and my sister’s story, my world has turned upside down. My father may have even began ruining our name before he sent me away. I_ **revered** _my father. He favored Thomas, but I never stopped trying to impress him, not even when he sent me away because I look like my mother. And because of my blind reverence, I did not see the man my father was becoming._

 _If Delilah and Tesslyn are correct… then everything my father did, including send me away, paved my road right back here so Tesslyn could_ **recruit** _me._

 _… My father_ **cursed** _the rest of my life with_ **his** _actions. Because of_ **greed.**

 _And yet I can’t hate him; not entirely. He was still my father. I still_ **want** _to hate my cousin for_ **forcing** _me into this Order, even though my father’s actions also put_ **her** _on the path she now lives. I’m beginning to see recruiting me in spite was little different than her following the orders of Fate._

_People should not need to make peace with things like this._

_It’s only been weeks since I woke up a Grey Warden; almost three. It feels like months instead. So much has happened. How do I feel so old already?_

_There are few places left for me to hide anymore. The first two days, I walked everywhere unseen because my cousin’s nanny service did not know the Keep. Now, they have memorized every place it is possible to walk without acrobatics. Unless I want a sword or arrow in my face every corner, I must climb and stick to the shadows. Of my own house. Thankfully I know a little acrobatics. I should also be grateful the bowman nanny service keeps a strict patrol. I’ve so far been able to avoid detection._

_Speaking of my cousin… rain does not seem to bother her like it does other noble women. My roost in the high shadows of my home remains dry. I wish she would climb more often, it would be considerably easier to speak to her._

_No, on second thought, I don’t want her climbing up here. She’ll get my hiding spot wet._

_Raindrops glitter down her with little orange reflections as she moves between torchlight. She is rigid, jerks. I see a boot shine as it hits the well._ _She seems upset again. That doesn’t surprise me, she’s upset every day here._

_She stumbles and braces herself at the well. It’s too dark to see what she’s doing, but a strange noise carries to my ears. And another; irregular, catching noises while her shoulders tremble._

_Crying. She is crying again, or sobbing. She cries often for a woman who is supposed to keep a calm face._

_Another shudder and she reaches for something. An arm shoots out and a highlighted elbow pulls behind her. Something thuds and rocks the hanging sign post for the smithy. My cousin the fierce, mighty Hero makes another lame noise and moves her arms the same in another direction. Something hits beyond my sight with a tink._

_Her movements… it it too dark to see well from up here, but I know those movements. She is using her bow. Taking her angst out with weapons._

_Huh. I thought only I did that._

_She leaves the well, shooting as she walks. Weak sobs continue as arrows I can’t see hit wood, metal, stone; ting after clank over tink. My cousin lets rain soak her while she releases whatever ails her heart._

_A new noise now, loud, cracking; I think she’s punching walls now. She disappears under the open portcullis towards the road, elbow raised again. Oh, no, is she running again? Fantastic. I almost don’t hear my groan over the rain. I might as well sit myself in the cell. Her nanny guards will lock me up again._

_Just as I sit back, she screams. Frustration,_ _hurting. I know the language of that cry. I recognize the heartache as her shout weakens._ _She did not seem so heartbroken in the city, nor the return ride._

_Only a moment of listening, then I hop down into another shadow._

_I... may be too curious for my own good._

_One good thing about sneaking along this roof is no end to shadows. Towers and balconies stagger shade everywhere. Rainfall only makes it easier. With a little dexterity and a good grip, it takes almost no time to weave my way though the supports over to her. Wood that creaks under the sun is quiet when it rains. Cool beams slick with fresh water make a perfect slide from rafter to rafter, while tiny studs on my gloves give me traction to swing and climb._

_A figure I don't expect halts me. Hands and feet on the wall walk, hidden in shadows as always; no one notices me. The person below is not a guard. The guards do not pace so out of form. Or cringe._

_Oh._

_She is_ **here.**

_She didn’t go past the upper bailey. There are so many crates and barrels the rain sounds harder than it is, and the splashing on discarded weapons magnifies it still. She sounded farther away with so much noise._

_I glance around. Her armed nannies atop the portcullis stare as they patrol the wall walk. Aren’t they supposed to intervene at times like this? Yet they act like they don’t even care. The Keep guardsmen down the stairs stare as well, and those on the battlements not far in the lower bailey._

_Why must people always stare? Don’t they have a Keep to defend?_

_Closer now, I have a better view. Her whole torso moves with each sob, though with the rain, I can’t tell if she’s crying. Even worse to sob without tears. That is the_ **worst** _pain; the pain that makes you question why you’re still alive._

_I hate that pain._

_It makes for great stamina, though: she only stops firing at the notice board to collect her arrows._

_Looking at her now, I am conflicted. I_ **want** _to hate her. And her stint in the city yesterday, giving the drunk ten sovereigns but wouldn’t let_ **me** _borrow forty silver? She embarrassed me. It was hard enough to muster courage to ask. Does it even count she gave me gold after I made her feel guilty? Then each time I begin to hate her again, something happens. Like this. I gain another glimpse into the closed window that is her dual life. Was my father really so terrible my mere_ **presence** _gives her nightmares of him?_

 _She’s supposed to be a Hero. Heroes aren’t supposed to cry or get frightened. Neither are Queens. My father would want me to hate her. I truly thought I did, for a while. Then I see her now, like this… she doesn’t want to be friends. But she needs one, needs_ **something.** _What happens when there are no more notice boards or sign posts to shoot?_

 _Maybe her problem is she has_ **too many** _friends. In my own time of despair, all I wanted was to see my family. I should probably count myself lucky my sister is so close. I don’t know if Fergus Cousland lives, and thanks to my father, Tesslyn no longer has parents._

_Perhaps she will settle for a cousin._

_I turn and swing; and miss the next support. I grunt a curse when I land on hard ground, forgetting I mean to sneak. These bowman nannies don’t even acknowledge me tonight, like they_ **expect** _me to prance about at night._

 _I’m not sure I like being ignored. And I_ **don’t** _prance._

_I dart back into the Keep and run along the carpets for my new bow. There was not a decent selection in town; I may make a new one. Almost a full quiver. It will be enough for now. I won’t even need to speak this way. Archery practice might even be fun with someone else._

_“Just what do you think you’re doing, little Howe?” And here is my_ **favorite** _person. I am almost in reach of the doors; he_ **enjoys** _doing this to me._

 _I don’t like_ **this** _much attention._

_“Little Howe? How clever. I am older and taller than you; if anyone’s little, it is not me.” I turn towards his voice. He’s taken a note from me: in the shadows of the room, I see outlines of my cousin’s General._

_“Take another step. I dare you.” The only reason I even know Pádraig’s name is because he stalks Tesslyn’s footsteps and she does not care for it. Many times when I try to speak to my cousin, I find Pádraig’s spying on us._

_I lift one leg at a time. “Step, step, step.”_

_“You aren’t allowed to see her at night, Howe. She’s the_ **Queen** **.** _You are not allowed to touch her.”_

_“When have I touched her?” I demand. “You are nothing but words, General. I have no attraction to family members.”_

_“Save your lies, Howe. You’re not leaving this house, not when she’s out there.”_

_“I was already outside,” I remind him. Where does he think I came from? “She is my_ **cousin.** _I gather you don’t have one those. Allow me to explain: a cousin is like a sibling who doesn’t live in your house but is sometimes there. Does that clarify things for you?”_

_Pádraig stands in front of me with glare that I’m sure makes someone somewhere nervous. “You aren’t allowed to be with her. She has a strict duty to her husband the King. You will let her be, especially now. She doesn’t need your crooked face making her night harder. When she’d done out there, you can haunt the night to your heart’s content.”_

_“Perhaps it’s not_ **best** _for her to be alone right now?” I shrug._

_“When she needs company, she’ll call. She has sixteen friends here. She has no need of you.”_

_“And none her sixteen friends are with her right now. They’re sleeping or standing watch, or harassing Grey Wardens.” I hold up my bow. “She doesn’t need another friend. She needs someone to help her hit targets. Or to stand them up again. I happen to have experience with both.”_

_He shakes his head again. “Not a Howe, she doesn’t.”_

_“A_ **Howe** _is the only one here not telling her how she can and can’t express her own pain.” I walk around Pádraig, though as soon as I reach for the door, metal unsheathes._

_I can’t believe he has such nerve._

_I pull an arrow and turn, drawing it in line with his nose. “I can’t tell if you are stupid or vain.”_

_“Get to bed, Howe.”_

_“You do not order me about. I am_ **not** _my father._ **I** _did_ **nothing** _to her family.” One intense staring contest across the weapons of two skilled men. “One of these days, you must accept that.” I relax the arrow and lower my bow._ **“** **You** _spend more time alone with her than_ **anyone.** _You have_ **no** _grounds to accuse me of anything._ **And** _I am a Grey Warden now. If you have issues with me being above your local laws, speak to my cousin._ **She’s** _the one who made me a Warden.”_

 _“She_ **meant** _for it to_ **kill** _you.”_

 _I shrug again and push on the door. “And here I am, trying to help her anyway, while her General cowers away from her bad days like she’s contagious.” He knows I’m right. And I have not tried to pursue her. The word_ **cousin** _does not quite describe how I see her, she was little more than a_ **sister** _who lived in a different house. Our fathers were close, one of us was always at the other’s house. The notion of…_ **engaging** _with my cousin, sister or not, is horrendous. Is it so hard for this General to understand that?_

_I’m glad to be away from that General, and I have nothing against rain, but Andraste, when it drips down the back of my collar… unforgivable. I fix my collar around my neck, striding long through the famous Fereldan rain. Tesslyn is still loosing arrows, quiver almost full again. She doesn’t seem to know I’ve approached. I watch for a moment, silent. I don’t forget to throw a rude gesture toward her nannies atop the portcullis. Their armor is so polished light from covered torches reflects from them to the rain, sending golden glows around them. They make fine targets right now._

_My cousin ignores them also; as they ignore her sorrow. Her shots are less careful as she persists. Lingering gasps ruin her shots between waning sobs and she can’t draw arrows back far enough. Whatever pains her tonight - me? I’m tired of being the crooked nail - is wearing her down. I step aside to watch her better; she still does not notice me. Damp and upset. Too upset to see the world around her._

_I wish I could say I don’t what it’s like to suffer by choice to remind myself I’m alive. Sometimes it’s easier than fighting for comfort._

_Every few arrows Tesslyn clenches in a trivial fit of rage, growling, muttering in denial with a hard sob. Then, her arrows fly straight and hard. Adrenaline; she is trying to rise above her pain and make sense of her anguish, or find purpose for it. Even her controlled arrows are off target, though. I can’t tell if she doesn’t care anymore and shoots for something to do away from_ _Pádraig_ _, or if she wore herself down crying. Both concern me._

_I should hate her, but she worries me. The irony of my life, now._

_I raise my bow and nock an arrow while she musters strength again. My cousin still does not notice me. Draw, lean my head. Hold my breath. As she draws another of her own, I loose my arrow. Her breath catches aloud as my arrow sticks near hers. Tesslyn whips around as I nock another arrow. Risking her guards, I slide my feet over one at a time till I am in line with her._

_With my back to this Grey Warden Queen, I draw and loose again. “Cousin,” I say._

_I turn and nod at her, gesturing to the notice board. If Tesslyn has any objections, she makes none. Knowing I’m here makes her more aware of her form: she straightens, drawing an arrow back all the way. She still trembles with breath. I try not to look. I don’t want to spoil her shot._

_Steady arrows always strike harder. I nod and nock again. She frowns, eyes following as my elbow pulls back; I bet she wonders what I mean by all this. She frowns deeper when my arrow sticks along side hers again. Unblinking, my cousin glares, readying her bow. Her face is painted in competition. She does not like me mimicking her aim._

_It is ridiculously hard not to smile right now._

_She looses this arrow inches over; I copy again. And so we continue our silent chase: me aligning my arrows with each of hers, her glaring, me smirking. I target her arrows but never hit them, guiding instead her aim around the board. Though we grow wetter and colder and our grip slick, our arrows wind around the board like they’re dancing. The rain lets up only a little and a breeze picks up, but the resistance challenges us more; challenges_ **her** _more. She concentrates harder, tries to outsmart me. I like it. Drawing longer, testing our bows. Testing each other. Sometimes we loose at the same time, only to have our arrows hit side-by-side anyway; I chuckle as she scoffs._

 _I’ve never done this before. Never danced my arrows with another’s; never knew arrows could be_ **played** _with. When I watched her approach my cell, I could not have imagined_ **this** _would become of us. But I am enjoying this. For the first time, being back home is not so bad. I am actually having fun._

 _Only three of my arrows remain; the rest protrude from the board with hers. Tesslyn frowns when I loose again; her face is about stuck like that._ **“Stop** _that. You’re wasting arrows.” I quell a laugh but not a smile, loosing another anyway. “You’re wasting resources,” she insists; jokes?_

_Or is she trying to get rid of me? Is it because she’s enjoying this as well?_

_Oh. She’s the Queen. I almost forgot. She’s not allowed to enjoy herself; nor the company of another man._

_Horse dung. I’ll fight that General of hers if he dares to stop us. A new aura for the house is long overdue. I’d rather laugh with my cousin than simmer in apathy or contempt alongside a Queen. That has to count for something._

_My next arrow sticks against hers with a clank of their heads. Tesslyn stiffens with eyes of surprise. With another deep frown and a hard jaw, she straightens her shoulders. Breath inflates her chest. I watch her eyes narrow. She is serious, now; I only don’t laugh to watch her arm. Her head tilts ever so slight, arm pulls further, breath pauses. I follow her arrow right to mine. My cousin’s aim splits my arrow down the middle._

_I face her and gesture to my shamed arrow; she watches me from the corner of her eye._ **“Now** _who’s wasting resources?” It’s harder not to smile than I thought. Her cheek twitches; if I read her right, she is also fighting a smirk._

_She’s not crying anymore, not sobbing or gasping. I hope this is good. I hope her General sees her like this. Perhaps he’ll be more lenient with me from now on._

_My cousin’s face softens as we stare at each other. She looks like she’s experiencing the very thing I did not moments ago: I want to hate her, but cannot. Want the pain to go away. Willing to try anything to make it leave. Willing to put the past behind and welcome in something new. Something better._

_I did not know she and I could be friends. I thought my father had ruined that for me. I dug the wound deeper when I arrived, I can admit that now. After talking to my sister, I_ **wanted** _to forget the rift my father tore, but I did not think friendship was possible. I thought at best Tesslyn would tolerate me until she had a reason to send me away._

_Until now, that is. I hope I am not reading her wrong. I hope I am not still the monster she remembers my father as._

_I glance to her bow, and hold out my own. “May I see that?” I ask, making sure to keep her gaze. I don’t wish to make her question me. Trust is already hard for either of us. We have little family left as it is._

_My cousin looks at her bow, then offers it anyway. I thank her, filling her empty palm with my own bow._

_Her bow is exquisite. Smooth limbs with delicate carvings. The Cousland laurels wrap around, winding together towards the recurve. I slide my finger up and over to animal incisors on the ends, two on each end. Fangs with a slight curve stay in tight with solid leather lace. The teeth have been polished; hard to tell what they belonged to. The lace securing the fangs looks treated and sturdy. Great care went and goes into this bow. “Wolf?” I guess of the teeth._

_“Bear,” my cousin answers. Polished, but not down._

_“Are they trophies?”_

_“No. I… slap things with my bow sometimes when I fight,” she says._

_I move my hand and turn the bow to look closer in the little light we have. The words ‘my love’ sit in the grip. I tilt my head and hold the grip; the two words sit on either side of my fingers. A bow made by a lover. “Where did you get this?”_

_“My husband made it, when he fell in love with me.” She hesitates. “Before I fell in love with him.”_

_The notion puzzles me. “You husband made you a_ **bow** _so you could_ **slap** _people? Wouldn’t a_ **glove** _be better suited for that?” Where is the logic in that? I look to her for an answer._

_Tesslyn shrugs. “He didn’t know how to sew then.”_

_It takes me a moment to understand she’s joking. Then, a laugh falls out before I even realize I’m smiling. King Alistair wanted her to slap enemies, but since he couldn’t sew a glove, he carved a bow._

_Her lips stretch and move her cheek. For the first time since we reunited weeks ago, my cousin smiles at me. For once I am not an insect in her eyes._

_Hope on her face resonates inside me. I am not normally one to contest authority, but now I am glad I disobeyed. I am glad I ignored that overprotective nanny of hers._

_Before I can blink, Tesslyn tosses my bow. “Your turn.”_

_“Then let’s end this.” I thrust her bow against her and nock my last arrow in place. “By the way, the Crown owes me an arrow.” My cousin bites her mouth and turns her head. I can’t fight this grin for the life of me._

_Being a Grey Warden does not seem so bad, now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	10. Up to Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel vows to prove he is nothing like his disturbing, murderous father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Audiemus, by Audiemus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thokRiugln4)

**Nathaniel:**

_Notes to myself:_

_\- Never let Anders deliver my clean laundry again. This is the third time that cat poked its head out of my clean underclothes._

_\- Wake up with the cocks, no sleeping in. I never get any morning tea._

_\- Work on my smile. Rather, work on smiling instead of smirking. My inherited smirk seems to be a problem, not me, thankfully._

 

 

_My cousin spilled it all._

_We sat in the stables with her favorite drink, listening to the rain beat down upon the roof. At first, we shared stories: our first bows, tournaments, our greatest achievements, greatest challenges. Then she broke down. The night she did not want to speak of spilled out like a crushed dam._

_I sat as a man slapped by my own words while Tesslyn recalled the night my father destroyed her family. My father had been kind to her that night, no different than I recall my father acting toward her before. That night, my father even proposed she marry my brother Thomas. “It was a good night,” Tesslyn remembered, “It was good to see my Uncle again. He made me laugh.” Then she woke to her hound growling._

_Fallen brick, flaming rubble. Smoke so thick and dark she almost could not see. Screams prickled her neck as burning flesh came from everywhere. Bodies of people littered the ground in flames and blood. Fergus Cousland’s expecting wife and six year old son - murdered. Visiting nobles killed in bed; one of them a man Tesslyn decided that night to marry. The castle scholar, the Chantry mother. Nan - as much_ **my** _nanny as she was Tesslyn’s. Children sent to squire there. Servants. Even the mousers and castle mabari; her’s only survived because it was in her room._ **Helpless people.** _My cousin tripped over their bodies trying to save them. People I knew and grew up around as much as she did. Portraits of her parents ripped from the walls and slashed. Tesslyn described a maze of death I saw play out in my mind as she told me each name. I knew where every one of those people worked and slept. I know where they died._

_And the revered mother… I still can’t believe it. My father dragged us to Amaranthine once a week for mass, he scolded us for giggling and not paying attention. How could he order that? How did my father become a man who killed priests?_

_Ser Gilmore, a man my age and someone I considered a friend, held the throne room doors so Tesslyn and her mother could find the Teyrn and escape. He refused to leave. He accepted early death to buy his Ladies time. Bryce Cousland, my cousin recalled in trembling gasps, almost couldn’t hold his own guts in._

_She only glazed over fragments the night she found me in the cell. I did not believe it then. It sounded impossible; it still does. Bryce Cousland was a good brother to my father, they laughed, we shared holidays together. My father sometimes spent_ **days** _deciding Satinalia gifts for the Couslands. Some years I spent more time in Highever than I did in my own house. It was my second home. My father treated the Couslands better than he treated me, my sister, and my mother; he only took Delilah and me to keep us from our mother. I found it hard to believe my father betrayed the Couslands_ **because** _of this. Who betrays someone he respects more than his own heirs?_

 _Still a sobbing mess, Tesslyn told me what she did to my father. Dripping, hiccuping, sniffing so hard she coughed, my cousin described how she left my father. His own intestines wrapped like a noose… A visual so horrific it almost did not seem real. She said she snapped, then. Saw my father and heard his last taunt and_ **showed** _him he forgot to kill the wrong Cousland; her words, not mine._

_All this brought to mind each time I sneered or smirked, all because it looks like my father’s… Andraste, I cannot fathom. And then depression, feeling abandoned by her husband. It is a miracle my cousin has not ended her own life._

_I cannot blame her. She desecrated my father’s body in a fit of rage yet I cannot blame her. My father turned her house into a graveyard._

_And wailing still, she apologized._ **She** _apologized to_ **me.** _I had no words for her. In her place, I would have made her father suffer. I was willing to make_ **her** _suffer for for what I thought was trivial compared to my father’s actions. Yet_ **Tesslyn** _apologized to_ **me.**

 _I was wrong. I was wrong about it all. Things my sister never knew happened,_ **worse** _things than my sister knew. And I came back home intending to_ **kill** _my cousin._

 _I am_ **horrified** _at myself. What if I had succeeded? I almost murdered my cousin for my father’s lies. I almost_ **helped** _my father blacken our family name - for me_ **and** _Delilah._

_I almost became my father._

_And_ **she** _apologized to_ **me?** _I don’t know how to make up for this._

 _We sat in the musty stables with huge slumbering horses and a downpour hiding us from the world, and we drank. We drank until her tears dried up and the bottle emptied_ _, till we tripped over the hay bales we sat on. The horses did not acknowledge our apologies._

_I’m not quite sure how we made it back into the Keep, if I am honest. I only know I woke up in my bed with a throbbing head._

_Right now, the sun is shining, and the birds flutter and sing. Bright golden rays reach down like hands, drying the land after last night’s roaring downpour. I almost missed fresh tea again this morning. Here we sit, my cousin and me, in my mother’s old sunning room, enjoying stillness of dawn before the rest of the Keep wakes._

_Peaceful._

_An understanding was reached last night: there is enough nobility in me to distinguish me from my father, and Tesslyn had every right to kill the man. The remaining Couslands and Howes all have right to scorn the rift my father tore in our houses. I am trying to be a good cousin; especially now. Since our archery game last night, Tesslyn acknowledges my attempt. No words, but action. She looks at me now like she finally_ **knows** _I am not my father; that is all I wish to prove._ **I** _finally know - without a doubt - she never lied to me. It is a pregnant step in repairing kinship between Cousland and Howe. It is up to us to do so._

 **I** _understand it’s up to us. Me and her._

_I did not understand this before._

_With any luck, we will be family again._ **We** _will. This is a new era for the Couslands and the Howes. This does not concern our fathers. Their disagreements, whatever caused my father’s betrayal, no longer exist. We are our own people, and two of us are Grey Wardens together; we will die together. It is_ **our** _turn to set the bond, and do things right this time. For ourselves, for the family we once were. For my unborn nephew and his future Cousland cousins._

_I aim to live up to everything my father was not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	11. Disconnected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tesslyn discovers a dire secret with a suspicious superfluous facade withheld from her _for her own good._ Who can she trust when trust has betrayed her _again?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Breath of Life, by Florence and the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d58VJ-sC1uY)

**“PÁDRAIG!!!”** _My shrill alarm draws them all in. The throne room fills with bodies; my guard, my new Wardens, a few servants, the Seneschal and Treasurer Woolsey. Many people still don sleepwear._ _Curious or nosy, some half asleep._ _Pádraig saunters in as the crowd thins. I don’t care how many people eavesdrop right now. After everything these past weeks, I have little left. My nerves were already shot, but now this?_

 _I hold up the opened scroll, keeping my eyes on my husband’s General._ **“Expecting** _something,_ **were** _you?” I say. My husband’s royal seal is in plain sight. Pádraig’s gaze lingers on the curled parchment in my hand before he exhales deep. His eyes close with a wince before he stands straight and faces me like a man. “Care to explain why a letter with the royal seal arrived at the crack of dawn - for_ **you?** _And why the courier who sent it was given_ **strict** _orders from my husband_ **not** _to let it fall into_ **my hands?”**

_Pádraig does not answer me. His frown deepens as the moment wears on. I can’t tell what he feels other than dread._

_I unroll the small scroll and read the most suspicious passage of my husband's short, vague letter:_

“…I’m unsure how much longer I’ll be here. It’s calmed down a smidgen, but Alfstanna is upset, to say the least. I need to stay to persuade her. Only time will tell how long this will last. Considering my wife, it may end bitterly, and a huge shit storm will brew up around me.”

 _I lower the parchment and find Pádraig’s eyes again. “You have three seconds to tell me_ **what the fuck** _this is about, General.” The room remains silent though. Not even the quiet counting I expect from Zevran occurs. The letter is suspicious enough, but finding out_ **my husband** _did not want_ **me** _to see it cuts deeper. I’ve been miserable as it is. I’m afraid I’m about to find out_ **why** _my husband sent me away._

_“ANSWER ME, PÁDRAIG!!” I yell at him. “WHY DID YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME??!” My voice chimes through the tiny decorative hanging flutes we bought in Amaranthine._

_“It’s not what you think_ _.” Pádraig's hands pause to the fore of his waist, like I’m a bitch that needs catching before they muzzle her._

 _“Then_ **explain** _it to me -_ **as I told you to!”** _I order. "Why the fuck did you lead me to believe Alistair was_ **simply** _visiting Fergus and Teagan? You_ **all** _did!”_

_“I did not lead you wrong, Your Majesty. Alistair indeed visited Fergus and he will visit Teagan,” Pádraig insists. But he hesitates, his words are slow and too careful than his normal mannerism._

**“Obviously not** _since he’s in the_ **Waking Sea!** _What the fuck is happening that you have to_ **keep** _it from me?!” I look around at the rest of my guard. None of them look innocent. Do they know too? Maker, why was I not told about whatever fucking happened? “Who_ **else** _knows my husband is in the Waking Sea and did not tell me?” Disbelief and mistrust only sink further as eyes of my most trusted_ **friends** _avoid me. “Are you fucking serious?_ **No** _one will answer me?”_

 _“There’s nothing_ **to** _answer, Your Majesty-”_

 _“DON’T_ **‘your majesty’** _me, General! This -!” I wave the correspondence. “Something is happening!_ **Maker,** _Pádraig! You make_ **such** _a_ **damn fuss** _about me just_ **talking** _with Nathaniel while my husband isn’t here! You_ **turn** _me around to make sure my_ **clothes** _are still fastened! I’m not allowed to_ **speak** _my father’s nephew for_ **_your_ ** _fear of adultery. But_ **you** _can hide_ **this** _from_ **me?”** _I gesture with my eyes to the letter._

_“It’s not what you think,” Pádraig repeats. He looks like he’s facing down a mother wolf._

_“Misconceptions don’t stop_ **you** _from accusing_ **me,** _but they should stop_ **me** _from asking about_ **secret letters** _you and my husband don’t want me to see?? You don’t believe when I say I’m not having_ **sex** _with Nathaniel, and you_ **goad** _me and_ **inspect** _me_ **for Alistair’s sake!!!** _But for_ **how** _long you'll_ **lie to my face** _when_ _my husband ditches me to sneak off to someone else’s corner of the bannor--”_

_Sneaking off. My husband sneaked off to see Alfstanna._

_Alfstanna?_

**That’s** _why they didn’t tell me?? The letter says he wants to_ **‘persuade Alfstanna’** _but because of_ **me** _-_ **his wife** _-_ **“it”** _may end_ **bitterly** _and he’ll be the brunt of a storm..._

_No no. No no no. No, this is not happening to me._

_I can’t -- it’s hard to breathe. I can’t breathe. My eyes are clouding and heavy and there’s not enough air. “He’s… he went there for_ **her?** _He left to-- Did my husband go there just to --- for_ **Alfstanna?”** _I thought she was my friend. My parents trusted her, they helped her keep up the Waking Sea. She_ **helped** _me when we first got to Denerim! She let me cry and vent! And now she’s-- with my_ **husband???**

_Pádraig’s already staring when I look at him. He shakes his head and mutters “No no, it’s not-”_

_“My husband took a_ **noble mistress?!”** _The letter says he’s unsure how long_ **‘it’** _will last. He’s done it. He’s really fucking done it. Oh Andraste, please--? I can’t-- and Pádraig-- PÁDRAIG!! My whole body hardens at his continuing denial. The thick pulse in my veins rushes up like a sudden boil; too fast, too hot, too much. “AND EVERY DAY YOU ACCUSE ME OF_ **INCEST!!!???”** _I grab the filled vase near me and throw as hard as I can, and my hands ignite before I release it. Anders somewhere beyond me cries out in warning but it is already too late. The vase shatters like a bomb in mid-air with a whistling crack. Blue and orange flames lick at the lacquered shards that tumble on the carpet at Pádraig’s feet. My husband’s plotting General steps away as someone rushes in with water._

 _“Your Majesty! We_ **need** _to calm down. It is_ **not** _what you think! I_ **swear** _to you!” Pádraig cries out._

_“THEN FUCKING EXPLAIN IT!!!” I scream. My hands are still aflame. Blue and white wisps dance on my fingers and wrists and begin to climb, but I can’t shake it out. I’m not sure extinguishing my hands is a good idea. What if Pádraig doesn’t talk if he thinks he won’t catch fire? “Like I fucking told you minutes ago!!!!”_

_Pádraig stares at me with a look I know too well: it has gone too far. Too deep, too barbed. Turning point passed him up long ago. With a deep breath that shivers him, enhancing his fear of my unpredictable magic, Pádraig finally speaks:_

_“It’s_ **not** _adultery. It is_ **far** _from that, I_ **promise** _you. Alistair would_ **never** _do that you, you_ **know** _that.” He holds his breath with a self-scolding clench of his jaws. He is wrong, he knows he is: Alistair has already had another woman, and he enjoyed it. “That was… not the best opening,” he admits short of breath. Another deep inhale before he stars again:_

 _There is unrest on Jainen Island and on the Waking Sea docks. Fereldans want the Orlesians gone for good. They want control of Jainen back, and they’ve begun threatening Banns Alfstanna and Franderel. Alfstanna wrote to Alistair for_ _help to control the situation, but ships have gathered in force from other trading boats._ _Alistair went to the Waking Sea to meet with Empress Celene, Alfstanna, Fergus, Franderal, the Jainen Island Knight-Commander, and ship captains to resolve the dispute. “Alistair did not want you to worry,” Pádraig says. “Especially if the conference broke out in violence. He doesn’t want you worrying about…” he pauses to swallow, “what ensuring Celene’s support years ago is costing the country now at Jainen.”_

 _A hard noise scraps up my throat and, for a moment, I can only stare at Pádraig._ **This?** _My husband felt he had to hide a_ **political struggle?** _The trouble in the Bannorn… I thought that was code for Alistair wanting to get drunk at Teagan’s._ _He always uses that as the excuse to drink when we visit._ _He couldn’t have told me the truth?_

 _“Didn’t want to worry me?” I echo. “This is any better_ **how???”** _My shoulders fall at what this means. “My husband_ **pawns** _me off to the Grey Wardens so he can have a secret diplomatic meeting? As if I’m not the Queen??”_ _My husband doesn't trust me. Or he thinks I'm incompetent. Neither is assuring. “_ _As if I don’t know Celene better than any of them?_ _As if I wouldn't know how to fix a flaw in my_ ** _own_** _damn plan?_ **As if I don’t have a say in what happens to my own country??** _And you -- and you just_ **let** _me…_ **Pádraig!”** _How_ **could** _he?? “I have been_ **crying** _and_ **hurting** _for_ **weeks!** _You followed me_ **days** _back to Denerim and found me_ **bawling** _because I couldn’t find my husband! You didn’t think it was important_ **then** _to tell me what’s happening? When I’ve been trying to convince myself it will be perfect again when he returns? When I keep having to convince myself he_ **will** _come back?” The look on Pádraig’s face says hiding the lie was his best bet._

 _“Did none of you think Tess would understand?” I stare at Pádraig, at my guards. These people who’ve been so committed to keeping me safe they skip sleep altogether if they must. “Poor, broken Tess. Am I right?” I continue._ **“Mental** _Tess who depends on her husband for so many things in life. Poor Tess who’s only Queen because Alistair lov-_ **likes** _to_ **have sex with her?”** _The words resonate and stick inside me like sap as I say them. Fear rushes and aches my heart like a nailed board._

_I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to._

_Is_ _it true...?_

 _Maker. Oh Maker, this hurts so much already. It_ **feels** _true. It feels true because it_ **is** _true? Did my husband only marry me in Denerim to save face for the Chantry and country? He’s_ **always** _seen a broken girl; unlike others who saw a strong survivor. Why else would someone marry a person who can’t function half the time? He_ **hates** _the moods and fits I can’t control. He hates when I have_ **nightmares,** _hates how I hate being naked because of my scars. My husband_ **hates** _how I can’t stand certain foods or drinks in the house because they remind me of Loghain. Alistair thinks I need help with_ **everything.**

 **Does** _he keep me around just to have me in bed?_

_No no no. Please say this isn’t true, Maker please. No no no no no, not on top of everything else._

_Pádraig’s face is distorted, a wince of worry, sympathy, regret._

_It is too late for either._

_I can’t trust him._ **He did this,** _he helped hide this from me. He helped my_ **husband** _hide this. Pádraig_ **knows** _I’ve been suffering and_ **just watched** _me. He_ **let** _this escalate. He let the lies sprout._

_And now he wants to play regret??_

_I can’t trust him anymore._

_“What happened to ‘I serve my Queen’?” I ask him. “How can you justify keeping this from your Queen?” I spin to look at all my guard. “My husband-- a_ **threat of war** _in my country-- How do you justify_ **hiding** _something like this from your_ **Queen?** _Did you assume I would never get wind of it?” How many many of_ **them** _knew? Can I trust my guard? “Did you know?” I ask my guard in whole._ **“Who all knew?** _Eirik? Leith?_ **Benneit?”** _Benneit - my favorite, who brings his wife by the palace for dinner once a week and she brings me a basket of new chocolates each time._

_One by one as I look around, the men of my guard hesitate. Only Domhnall answers aloud. The rest try to avoid my eyes as they nod._

**My entire guard knows.** _They knew the_ **whole time.** _Not a single word of assurance as they watched me droop and shrivel. These men trained to watch for my signs of panic to take me away from anything that sets me off. And_ **none** _of them did anything to help me. They_ **kept** _me_ **beyond** _panic._

 **“Varel?”** _I look at the Seneschal. Did this entire house know?_

_Varel shakes his head and stands straight, hands behind his back. “I know as much as you, Your Majesty. In fact, if the present moment didn’t require me to watch for betrayal, I would not still be in this room.”_

_Oghren shakes his head. “Don’t look at me._ **I** _was home in Redcliffe until two months, when I came here. Going to Jader had nothing to do that Empress except for delivering your letters. But I never deal with her, she always sends servants. I went back home, drank with Teagan, then came here. Just ask Felsi; I’m surprised she hasn’t shown up yet.”_

_Zevran is next in line. He stares at me with a guilt-ridden face, until his eyes drift and his head turns away. Even he nods._

**Zevran** _knew?_ **Zevran** _helped them_ **lie** _to me?_

 _How many times has he stitched me up?_ _He helped repair my marriage_ **how** _many times?_ _Only now to help carve me a new wound._

 _Oh, mother of Andraste… they all knew. All these men sent here to keep me safe and occupied… Maker, but not from sorrow. No one expected Alistair’s departure to affect me so. They were here to keep me from_ **asking questions,** _weren’t they? To_ **distract** _me from questioning_ **my** **husband’s absence.**

 _Even if it meant me wanting to_ **die?** _They were all willing to_ **risk** _that? My_ **husband** _was willing to risk that?_

 _Does_ **anyone** _here care about me?_

_Alone. All alone._

_Alone yet_ **surrounded** _by people who betrayed me. All these men… working so hard to “help” me: rescuing me from the Deep Roads, rescuing me with Alistair from Fort Drakon…. all to hide potent political problems and meetings from me._ **What else** _are they hiding from me??? What else is going on in my country that I don’t know about??_ **What else are they hiding for my husband???**

 _My eyes are so full of water it’s hard to see. Everything is a blur around me, even when I blink. This can’t be happening. This_ **shouldn’t** _happen. I’ve worked_ **so hard** _to be a_ **good** _Queen and make up for all the pain I caused growing up. I killed the Archdemon and saved everyone, and I did not expect to live; I didn’t do it for wealth or a title. Don’t I deserve honesty for_ **that,** _at least?_

 _But… I_ **wasn’t supposed** _to survive killing the Archdemon. Maybe… maybe all I did by surviving was upset the balance of Fate? Maybe I’m not meant to be Queen? And never was; wouldn’t I have married_ **Cailan** _if I was? Maybe I belong_ **here,** _with other Wardens who will all catch up soon enough and be mad with me?_

_Maybe I belong… away from Alistair._

_Away from people who lie to me. People who keep hurting me. Away from politics. Politics ruined my life as a child, after all._

_Need to get away. Not here. Somewhere Pádraig won’t want to follow. Somewhere I can get lost a while. Somewhere I have time to think and prepare for when I’ll next have to see my lying, sneaking husband. Celene comes first to mind but she will only send me right back, and Pádraig and his elite guard will follow me. Or Zevran will. I could move back to Highever…? Though my brother will give me the same ‘Couslands always do their duty’ speech my father gave me._

_I don’t have many options now unless I flee my own damn country._

_How many times in my life must I_ **do** _that??_

 _This isn’t the first time I’ve wished to run away from my pain. Maybe this time I’ll have the nerve to_ **stay** _gone. Maybe that’s the only way things stop hurting. The only way people stop betraying me._

 _My feet stagger across the throne room. I cannot trust anyone here. My -_ **my** _\- three Wardens, and Varel..._ **maybe** _that’s it. Maybe not Oghren; I can’t tell yet, I don’t know. I don’t want to find myself in a bigger hole later on._

_My family has abandoned me. Again. Why does this keep happening to me?? I need it to stop._

_“I am leaving.” I try to straighten my feet so I can get to my room. It’s not so easy right now. “Right now. I want my saddle ready.”_

_“And where are we going?” Pádraig asks._

_“Not we, Pádraig Hart._ **Me.** **You** _will stay here with your_ **patrol.”**

_“Its my job to protect you, Your Majesty,” he protests like I’m being silly about a walk through town._

_“AND I AM YOUR QUEEN!!!” I shriek._ **“YOU** _LISTEN TO_ **ME,** _PÁDRAIG!! You are sworn to_ **me** _and submit to_ **my** _orders! AND THE QUEEN IS ORDERING YOU TO FUCKING STAY!!!_

 _“You don’t follow me, you don’t_ **guard** _me anymore! Nothing you’ve done has ever helped me anyway!” I yell at him. “Your_ **guard** _exists to make yourself feel_ **righteous,** _but nothing you’ve_ **ever** _done has ever helped me!!!! My life has gone downhill since you_ **'** **saved’** _me from the Deep Roads! I am_ **done!** _I’m done being played! I’m done being_ **lied** _to and_ **betrayed** _by people I thought I knew!! WHEN IT’S FUCKING HARD ENOUGH TO TRUST ANYONE IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!” I scream at him. Maybe it’s not a big fucking deal to him, but trust is damnation and trials for me. As time goes on, I am only proved Trust comes with the birds; something bigger always eats it for dinner._

 _“If you still serve your Queen you will_ **stay** _here like_ **good** _little servants!! And if not, then I will_ **exile all** _of you to the frozen wastes!! Your_ **horses** _stay_ **here,** _you do_ **not** _ride after me. And in two days, you will_ **walk** _back to Denerim and_ **stay there** _until my husband returns - then_ **you** _can explain to him why you have no idea where I am! That includes_ **you,** _Zevran! You serve my_ **husband;** _you can_ **scurry** _along to_ **find** _him. Don’t you_ **dare** _come back to me again!!” I look around as I back up. “Friends don’t do this to friends._ **Family** _doesn’t do this to_ **family!** _You_ **don’t do** _this to your_ **Queen!** _I DID NOT KILL THAT DRAGON FOR THIS!!!”_

 _I turn around and run, almost slide into my room. Out of my day gown, into my armor - my Grey Warden armor. The armor I swore I’d not wear again. Right now the only armor that separates me from all the lying sneaking bastards of the Crown. Bastards that sneak around_ **my** _crown! I grab my weapons on the way out, buckling my belt._

_Most are still in the throne room. Quiet chatter dissipates as I march through. I sheath my daggers and hook my bow._

_I hope Pádraig’s watching me leave._

 

 

**Nathaniel:**

My feet move before I command them, sliding me through the door before it closes. “Where are you going?” I call after my cousin.

“I don’t know,” she says. She walks stiff and hurried. At this rate, I bet she could be halfway to Amaranthine by lunchtime.

“Let me come with you,” I urge, keeping pace beside her. Tesslyn glances at me in uncertainty. “If you’re trying to disappear, it’s best to have someone at your back. I have no reason to stay anyway, he’ll only blame me and lock me up again.”

“And what about me?” Anders catches up. “What if they call the Templars while you’re away? Wherever you’re going I can heal.”

“You have to put that cat down first, Anders,” I tell him. We cannot hope to keep track of a kitten while we flee.

“No way! You think I’m going to leave Ser Pounce-a-Lot with **_them??_ ** He’s only a baby. Besides, I can keep us warm at night-”

“That’s not swaying my mind, Anders.” I shoot him a glare.

 **_“I_ ** meant lighting fires and heating tea. **_Honestly,_ ** Nathaniel, this is not the time. Er, though…” Anders hesitates, “but we may need Oghren. I mean, he is a Grey Warden too, **_and_ ** he packs a heavy swing. He may really not know about… you know, those **_mean_ ** people.”

“Anders is right.” I want to groan, but I know it will only make things worse. Tesslyn needs people she can trust, not last resorts. “The three of us are not exactly built for heavy labor. His strength would make things easier on us. And it would be good to bring bedding, at least.”

“I have gold,” my cousin insists like gold fixes all problems. It **_should_ ** fix all problems, though it may have also **_caused_ ** my cousin’s problem. I do not doubt her guard was paid for silence.

“Yes, I know you carry hundreds of gold on you at all times, but unless we detour to Amaranthine by nightfall - which they might expect - gold will do us no good. And they may not have leather ready there yet; they were still waiting for hides to cure when I tried to buy armor.” I pause when we reach the horses. “I’ll go. I’ll get what we need, make Oghren help me carry it out.”

I study my cousin for a moment before she finally gazes back. People she thought she trusted for years let her ache inside only to keep a secret they had no right to keep. Betrayed her like my father betrayed her, like he betrayed me. Wounds aren’t always made with swords, and sometimes the worst ones don’t bleed us. Here are two Wardens now, otherwise new to her life, who cannot trust her guard either, yet we need guidance. And as much as she is our Commander, she is still our Queen, and the Queen must not fall. Right now, we don’t have a choice. For whatever reason, they’re plotting against the Queen who happens to be a Grey Warden. It is treachery. I can’t let her face this alone; even if I must use the excuse _Wardens stick together._

My cousin nods. I return it, then nod at Anders. His eyes reinforce my thoughts: _stay, make sure they don’t try to stop us._

Fleeing royal guards; never thought I’d be doing this today.

I’m relieved Oghren is in cooperative mood. He doesn’t protest when I say “By order of the Queen”. I grab what I can while he does the same, as fast as we can. The General and his bowmen nannies stand with their tails between their legs while we work without words. Varel stops us at the yett, but there is nothing to tell. If I knew our destination, I would not tell him anyway; there is no way to know if he took part in Pádraig’s ploy. Oghren and I hurry to the stables, bulging bags of bare necessities in each hand. I did not forget my cousin’s tiara.

Four large horses await us, saddled and expectant. The Anderfels steeds sense something lies amiss. Within moments, saddlebags are stuffed and we ride off, trailing dust behind us like a warning not to follow.

I never thought I’d run away with a Queen, not in all my dreams.

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_“Cousin?” A hand on my reins steals my attention. I follow the arm up to the face of Nathaniel Howe. His face does not look as long as mine feels. “Where are we going?” he asks like he’s done so a dozen times already._

_“Why are you here?” I ask._

_“I want to be. You can banish me later. For now, we need a destination.”_

_I shake my head and look away. I did not think this far ahead. I only wanted to leave._

_Nathaniel nods with a deep breath, brows raised like he should have expected this. “Then where would you_ **like** _to go?”_

_“Away.”_

_He nods again, brow even higher in contemplation as his gaze drifts. Anders and Oghren speak but their words drown about me as I let my eyes wander._

_Around masculine noise, gravel crunches beneath hardened hooves. Birds sing, foliage and leaves whisper in the wind. The sky is pale sapphire with plump bright clouds. In the distance over the ocean, sunshine breaks through lumpy gray pillows in brilliant beams._

_It’s all wrong. How is the world outside me so perfect right now? How does it not feel all this pain and stinging and ripping? How can it laugh and dance around me?_ **How does it not care my husband lies to me?** _How is it not crying?_

_“Blackmarsh, then?” Nathaniel touches my arm and leans his head. My eyes fall to him as he searches. “Cousin?” his voice is softer. Nathaniel normally holds his face well. Right now, he is concerned. They all look concerned._

_As if they’ve never seen a woman betrayed by her own husband before._

_“Blackmarsh?” I repeat._

_“People think it’s haunted. No one will look for us there. Even that General is wary of it,” Nathaniel says._

_“Haunted?” I remember stories from childhood. Ghost stories my brother used to scare me with. The Veil is thin there._

_“I know you don’t like the Fade,” Nathaniel remembers. “But it could be nothing more than superstition. I don’t know that anyone actually visits Blackmarsh.”_

_Haunted. The Fade. Thin Veil. Demons._

_I nod. It will be perfect._

_I can go back our house, mine and Alistair’s. Our perfect house on the beach with our perfect children… where I am not broken and Alistair does not sneak and lie… or impregnate witches. And I won’t even know I’ve gone to sleep. “Blackmarsh is good.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	12. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Anders, Nathaniel, and Oghren, Tess finds equality in ways she never dreamed. There are no scars, no differences, and no one is an outcast. Family; _her_ idea of family. _Trust._ For the first time, she feels whole and capable again. The pain she felt before is not there when they reach Blackmarsh, but with its horrors comes new pain. Now, to get her new family home in one piece, she must deal with the repercussions of wanting to die in the haunted marsh in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Paradise, by Coldplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G4isv_Fylg)  
> [Breath of Life, by Florence and the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d58VJ-sC1uY)

_“Do you need to talk?” Nathaniel shares my sitting log by the fire._

_The rain hammers down on the leather tarps the boys tied up. Nathaniel fixed leather sheets around us like a small hut. With the angle of the canopy, the rain pat-smack-pelts, then trickles down and drip-drop-drips off. It’s warm, but loud. I almost can’t hear Anders and Oghren arguing over how to roast the deer._

_“About what?” I know what he means, though. My eyes water and I look down at my hands._

_“Or yell.” He pauses. “Or not.” Nathaniel makes a noise as he leans over to grab a stick._

_“Why did you come with me?” I watch him draw rings in the ground, stirring dirt over fresh ground cover._

_“I meant what I said before. I want to make the best of my new life. Right now, that means following my cousin.”_

_“To Blackmarsh?” my voice drops in doubt._

_He shrugs. His stick disrupts more green to complete an archery target with an arrow in the center. “If you really want to get away, there are other countries,” he tells me. “I know a bit of the wealthy population in Starkhaven and Kirkwall. And you_ **are** _the_ **Queen,** _not to mention the Hero who killed the Archdemon. Nobles abroad will all but die to host you.”_

_“And that is why I can’t leave the country. Queens don’t leave their countries unannounced without a regiment of servants.” I fold my arms atop my knees and rest my chin._

_Things don’t seem quite as dire now. It still hurts. But this far away, with the Keep well from sight… it feels like I escaped another fire in the nick of time. Maybe the farther I go, the more the pain will dissolve._

_I hope._

_Nathaniel begins drawing a second target. It reminds me of something I almost forgot. “Did those rangers ever tell you I said hello?”_

_Nathaniel glances at me. “Rangers?”_

_“Those men you had follow me to Nevarra. Hunters, maybe.” I can’t believe that was ten years ago. Feels like a whole Age._

_He frowns at me from the corner of his eye. “How did you know about that?”_

_“They were the only men who stared but never propositioned me.”_

_Nathaniel’s eyes crinkle with a smile he tries to bite back. “And that proves they were_ **my** _hunters?” He draws three arrows sticking in the second target, all along the outer hoop._

 _“I snuck up on them one night at their camp. They slipped your name easy enough. They were_ **supposed** _to send you my regards,” I recall. Nathaniel drops his head in a grin. “I didn’t know Fergus arranged that till he told me after the Landsmeet.”_

 _“I’d only been there a year. I still don’t know what he wanted me to watch you for. I was a squire, even, not anyone important. Those hunters were my_ **uncle’s,** _by the way. Not mine.” He smiles again, and writes_ **NATHANIEL WINS** _over the bullseye target. “They_ **probably** _thought you were a sweet, innocent little girl.”_

_“I’ve never been innocent.”_

_“True enough.” Nathaniel writes_ **TESSLYN NEEDS PRACTICE** _over the target with three shoddy-aimed arrows._

 _A noise leaves my throat and I push him, but Nathaniel is laughing. Grin as wide as his cheeks and giggling, he brushes his pants and hands off before sitting in the same spot. His eyes sparkle when he looks at me. I don’t remember this side of him from childhood. It’s refreshing; after all that happened today,_ **Nathaniel** _is refreshing. I can’t help smiling back._

_Just weeks ago, I wanted Nathaniel dead. Now…_

_I’m glad my foolish, spiteful act didn’t kill my cousin._

 

 

_We travel through the coastal edge of the Wending Wood to avoid bandits lurking in the forest. The journey to Blackmarsh is far from what I expected. Not even springtime on the coast presents struggle; not close to hard. Not as painful, despite my reason for leaving. These boys keep me on my toes, don’t give me a chance to dwell over yesterdays. Make me live in the moment._

_Anders has survival skills I do not expect from a mage. He knows how to make fire from rubbing sticks; whereas Nathaniel prefers striking flint. Anders shows me how to make little cakes while camping: grind ripe nuts with rock, mix it in a hand-sized clamshell with herbs and eggs - abundant this time of year - and honey if we can find it, then cover with the other half of the shell and shove it in hot coals. The cakes make for filling sweets or pretty biscuits, depending on the ingredients. This Circle mage carves stack-able eating plates from wood while we ride our horses; and I learn he’s particular about organizing. He shows us what plants to use for soap, and what to eat should we find no meat, eggs, or fruit: certain evergreens, and a variety of roots and berries - some from plants I’ve only used for their poisonous parts. Nathaniel says he knows it all, but I catch him taking mental notes. He’s quiet when Anders teaches. We all giggle when Oghren eats a poisonous mushroom and mistakes his horse for Hespith, his cousin-turned-ghoul who had a secret affair with his now-ex-wife Branka. Yet he continues riding the horse. Anders howls with uncontrollable laughter, almost falling off his own steed, before passing herbs to dim hallucinations. It takes until we next stop to consider Anders may have learned to survive the hard way; like me before lyrium spoiled me. It makes me wonder just how bad his experience in the Circle was to make base survival this fun._

_The boys make me pull my weight. They don’t refuse to help me or demand I stop acting noble, but setting up camp is a group effort; very different than Alistair doing it all for me during the Blight. Oghren chops wood for fire and sitting blocks. Anders starts fires and gathers herbs, mushrooms, and roots for tea and supper. Nathaniel ties leather tarps around trees for shelter, then hunts meat. He or I clean the meat, sometimes with Anders, sometimes the three of us at once depending on our game, whence Oghren butchers it. Nathaniel asks me to hold up ends of the tarps he ties, or hands me bedrolls to lay down. Sometimes I hunt with him. Anders asks me to move stones to better hold the fire he’s building, or to help him tie our makeshift cooking spit. Oghren hands me sitting stumps to place by the fire. I fill our waterskins while the boys finish setting up. They don’t coddle me. I’m not helpless to them._

_I miss not being helpless._

_The boys can be so obnoxious to each other, though as I observe, I’m able to unwrap layers. They peck each other not because of differences - for they have many - but because they enjoy each other’s company. They_ **enjoy** _their differences; something else I’ve struggled with as the_ **different** _noble my whole life. Anders’ puns range from Nathaniel’s surname to dwarven stereotypes, even jokes about the Circle. Oghren prods with vulgar jokes, things that might sound like insults without context, often laughing at words that make us crinkle our noses and giggle. He gets on with these boys better than with Alistair and Zevran, and seems at peace with his life. Happy for once, like he was always meant to be a Warden. A silver tongue emerges from Nathaniel with a masterful straight face and specific words that almost sound of compliments unless you listen to_ **everything** _he says. When my cousin plays last words, my sides hurt from laughing so hard. I even fell off my horse once._

 _I think_ **this** _is what being a Grey Warden is supposed to mean. The old life ends; no looking back. We are all the same now. No nobles, no mages, no warrior caste. No outcasts. Alistair once said it but I never understood it because the Order I joined died before I could appreciate it. A bond that forms even outside our Taint. These boys are here to make the best of their new lives, including me. Just like Nathaniel told me. I am not Queen or even Commander here,_ **or** _Hero. I am not different. Not scarred. I am friend. Sister. Simple as that._

_And when there are no words left and our busy day takes its toll, Anders’ new kitten steals our hearts. Ser Pounce-a-Lot, the tiny cat we found on the grounds of Vigil’s Keep, is a survivor of the darkspawn attack. He’d crawled out hungry and crying, but we found no family. Anders has nursed him back to health, and during the day, the wee ginger tabby sits content from a pocket secured to Anders’ chest. At night, the romping kitten shares suppertime meat with us all, even Oghren who claims to hate cats. Then Ser Pounce-a-Lot practices upon our feet to become a mighty hunter. Watching Anders encourage this tiny beast in coos is one of the purest things I’ve ever seen._

_Nathaniel has been an exceptional element. If our party is quiet when we stop, he asks how I feel, asks if I need help loosing arrows. Teases me, little silent things like drawing silly pictures in the dirt, or slaps my horse’s rear out of the blue to make it bolt. He found a frog once and put it on my plate, face straight as ever while I stared at the little green thing sitting next to my roast fish before it croaked and hopped away. Ser Pounce-a-Lot chased it - Nathaniel cheered the frog, laughing, said he never meant for it to die - and the cat ate his first prey; Anders praised his mighty hunter. When I looked at Nathaniel again, his face was stuck in a gleeful, mischievous grin that rang of guilt. Little boy things that make me see there is so much more to life than what the palace limits me to._ **Lets** _me see surviving the Archdemon_ **wasn’t** _a mistake; instead of_ **telling** _me and expecting my faith. He shows me there_ **is** _a way to make the best of a fate decided for me. And at night when his internal daylight keeps him up while the others sleep, Nathaniel helps me keep watch. We carved a dozen wooden arrows one night before passing out against the sitting log; I awoke propped against my cousin’s shoulder to Anders tucking me in._

_It was the first night I slept without aid since Alistair left._

_I stalled our arrival to Blackmarsh. The boys protested not as I slowed our pace to stretch our last day, but I gather we are of the same mind. This experience has changed us all. Only a few days, but it’s bonded us like nine sequential months in the Deep Roads bonded my old party during the Blight. I’m unsure what lies ahead, but I don’t want our journey to end there._

_Though now in the dark, with the others trying to sleep, my thoughts sneak up on me. It pains me to think my_ **Uncle** _Rendon_ **needed** _to murder my family so_ **now,** _in Nathaniel, I can regain the brother I once had in Fergus. It knots my gut and rakes my heart. I ache at the thought of Nathaniel dying at his Joining. Where would I be without my cousin right now? It also makes me think of Cailan and Alistair. Me working for Loghain_ **needed** _to happen for Cailan to carve a path so I could marry the man I love; Cailan’s way of protecting me when I never let him. And then my husband: a man I never meant to fall in love with. A man who has spent half our relationship breaking my heart to_ **protect** _me from the_ _world._

 _It pains me more to consider I needed to_ **_lose my husband_ ** _to_ **_gain a brother_**. _A thing my_ **_husband_ ** _set in motion before we even knew Nathaniel returned._

_A sniffle and a noise escape before I can stop it._

_Not a moment’s delay, Nathaniel pushes back his bedroll and sits a stump next to mine. He is silent in his thinking face, then sits up and exhales. Without words, Nathaniel looks at me, elbow resting on his thigh, and holds out an open hand. He squeezes air for a hand not in his, and my heart hurts again. My cousin, who arrived hating me - whom I tried to kill, is asking me to let him comfort me. Nathaniel smiles at me when I lay my palm over his. He squeezes again, assuring me he’s here, and pulls my head over as he leans in. For a second I think he is going to kiss me, and I freeze up… instead, my forehead stops against his. My heart cinches and shakes my breath. Nathaniel squeezes my hand again. No words. Just sitting. Helping his cousin cry so I can feel better. Tears flow regardless now._

_I don’t know if I could do this - forget my pain and move on - if I can_ **endure** _my strife without him. I hate myself for ever wanting him dead._

 

 

 _“Ergh.” Oghren groans. “We wanted to come here_ **why?”**

 _“Because it’s a bright, cheery,_ **dry** _place_ **perfect** _for a picnic!” Anders grins and stretches his arms for us to behold Blackmarsh._

 _Only Blackmarsh is far from Anders’ joke. Dark, foggy, sour smells of still pond water, barren blackened trees like claws of an underground monster, and damp._ **Quite** _damp. Moss climbs up mold-stained trees and blankets much of the old worn-down road. It embodies its name to the fullest._

_“I’m beginning to see why there are no visitors,” Nathaniel says. “I can’t believe I used to dream about coming here.”_

_“You used to dream about this place?” I ask him._

_“Not when I slept, but daydreams. I’d pretend I saved the town from evil magic._ **Adventures** _I used to plan as a child.” Alert eyes survey our surroundings in caution. He’s listening for movement. I copy his gaze, hoping we find no danger. So far no life, but something far beyond catches my eye and explains the rumble of lyrium in my bones; not danger in itself, but a sign of it. “Silly boy dreams,” he clarifies._

_“Maybe not.” I point to a shimmery dark fog up a path that leads to what looks like a broken tower. Nathaniel and Anders lean over, faces skewed and squinting eyes as they seek my target._

_“Ooh.” Anders peers harder. “A_ **barrier.** _What do you suppose is_ **up** _there?” I reckon_ **his** _inner adventuring boy is peeking out, as well. “Something dangerous and exciting, right? That’s not a small barrier.”_

 _Nathaniel groans. “That is just… thrilling._ **Perfectly.”** _I smile; childhood adventures aren’t always grand when they’re up this close. He paces away with a snort. “Fu-” he freezes, eyes flying to me. “…oghorn,” he corrects himself. Nathaniel looks away like he was caught in an act._

 _Anders barks a scoff and a laugh._ **“What** _was_ **that?”** _Grinning his ears off as if he caught Nathaniel stroking himself. To say he adores pecking at Nathaniel is an understatement._

 _I look from boy to boy as Nathaniel glares. “There is a_ **Lady** _present,” he tells Anders, who laughs louder._

 **“Where** _have_ **you** _been? She says worse things than_ **Oghren!”** _Anders looks at me, eyes laughing almost harder than his mouth is. “What’s that Orlesian word you use?” he asks._

_“Boys,” I sigh, rolling my eyes, trying not to laugh. I catch Nathaniel’s own eye roll before turning away._

_“No, really,” Anders continues to chortle, “what was it? Starts with an F…”_

_“Friend?” Oghren offers in an unexpected innocent tone. My head zips towards him, and my lecherous drunk dwarf winks at me._

**“Friend** _is not a profane word,_ **Oghren** _of House Branka;” his ex-wife’s name. I wink back at him._

 _Oghren growls. “Sod you too,_ **Commander** **Theirin.”** _Asshole._

_"Sod your pants, Ogh."_

_"You first." His eyes crinkle with his grin._

_When the growling continues, I look ahead. A gray bushy tail disappears as a long snout pokes out from the shadow of a boulder. I suppose it was a fool’s wish to think a haunted marsh was empty._

_Anders snaps his fingers, drawing my attention again. “Foo-something._ **Fuh** _-something?” He pretends to think._

 _“I_ **believe** _the word you’re looking for is -” Sudden movement and thundering paws cut me off. A large wolf straight ahead howls. I’m thankful it’s only wolves, though. I hope this is the extent of our troubles here._

_“Fuck!” Nathaniel cries as two packs charge at us. He draws and nocks as I pull out my daggers. “There! I said it. Are you happy now, Anders?”_

_“Nope! It sounds_ **strange** _when you say it!” Anders stays back while Oghren runs to meet the pack with me “Do you_ **normally** _curse, Nathaniel?”_

 **“Boys!”** _I drawl again. “Just fucking kill stuff!” An arrow whizzes a breath past my knee into the face of a wolf. “Nathaniel!” I yelp, jumping back._

_“What? I killed it! You’re welcome!” He shoots another too close for comfort. I kick an open snout and drive my Rose, only another arrow clanks against my dagger from inside the mouth._

_I glance at Nathaniel while I turn to help Oghren. “It was already dead!”_

_“I know! That’s what happens when I shoot things!” he calls back. “It takes them a while to realize they’re dead!”_

_A crackle of purple lightning leaps onto the pack. As it flows through one, it shatters and jumps from wolf to wolf. I dive away, not looking first, trying not to get caught. I don’t want to absorb anymore magic_ **ever.** _Don’t want to feed the Archdemon’s mana, or whatever the sod I absorbed that day. My emotions feed it enough. Someone pulls me up in time to see lightning stagger from wolf corpse to wolf corpse._

 _“Cut that a little_ **close,** _Anders,” Nathaniel scolds._

_“Hey, it killed the rest at once.” Anders shrugs._

_Nathaniel rolls his eyes and turns me to check for wounds, only he cringes. “You’re filthy.”_

_“That’s what happens when you do all the dirty work,” I retort. I’m not upset. I’ve finally picked up on his teasing and can play along._

_His eyes find mine. “Maybe I should find you a bath?” His card-face is perfect for the moment._

_“Oh, no need,” Anders plays along. He gestures to all the stagnant, swampy ponds. “I think the baths all found her. Take your pick,” he grins._

_“Both of you!” I can’t help a laugh. “My babby asshole Wardens.”_

_“You’re a Warden too. Doesn’t that make you an asshole with us?” Oghren wipes the last bit of blood from his battleaxe._

_“Hey, that’s_ **Commander** _Asshole to_ **you.”**

 _My boys grin like I’ve set myself up for countless more jokes. Nathaniel clears his throat and hides his smile._ **“Commander,** _huh?”_

 **“I** _sodding said_ **nothing!”** _I rush out and whisk away. I hear them chuckle behind me. Anders says he thinks I like it._

_The barrier atop the hill is solid. Anders thinks it’s unique, serves as a barrier for the human side and a reinforcement of the Veil - keeps things only half in the Fade from crossing over. A caught fish stuck in the net, he says. He’s only read about these kinds of things, though. Says it takes extreme blood magic to trap a physical being in the intangible Veil. The Circle forbids such experiments; any information came from already-found barriers that were taken down and re-applied when dire actions were needed. We are not prepared for anything like this if he’s right._

_The town itself is utter ruin save for one mossy, vine-covered manor. It’s hard to tell how old Blackmarsh is when water damage from high moisture destroys like time and wind. Once-ornate rusted gates surround a small town, but everything is so broken I can’t tell if these were storage units, shops, or houses. Though with what may lie beyond that barrier, the town seems less risky._

_“My father said this used to be a thriving community,” Nathaniel tells us. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, as if he mentioned his father without thinking first._

_I haven’t thought about Rendon in… days? I haven’t seen him in Nathaniel since that rainy night loosing arrows together. Even as Uncle, he was never there for me as Nathaniel has been._

_“Fishing, peat farming, even the trees were special,” he adds. I suspect he’s trying to keep my focus on the town, not his father. “Popular for decorating nobles homes, I believe. With the land shaped so, the current washed up interesting treasures, as well. So I heard.”_

_“Did he know what happened to it?” I ask, part to show him I’m trying to move on; Nathaniel is Nathaniel now, not a murder’s son. I’m also curious about the legend. The only accounts I’ve heard say Blackmarsh was deserted long ago before the rebellion that made Maric king. Its peat moss became a luxury item after mass death of the town ceased exported trade. Those willing to brave the string of local curses got rich in weeks. Very few who ventured in ever came out, though. After a while, the risks of entering Blackmarsh were deemed too harsh._

_“Demons, a dragon. That was the tale._ _A Baroness owned this land,” he gestures to the manor. “I assume this is her home. She_ _saved the residents from an ancient dragon, so they say. People outside Blackmarsh called her a witch, but the residents were grateful she stopped the dragon and swore fealty.”_

 _“Stopped the dragon?” Anders echoes in doubt._ **“One woman** _killed an ancient dragon?”_

_“I remember dark magic happened here. That’s about it,” I say._

_“That is also what I heard. Demons and monsters. Sounds like blood magic.” Nathaniel nods, looking around._

_Blood magic. That must be what caused the mass death so long ago. That’s what thinned the Veil. Silence between us for a moment, then I take a deep breath. “We’re all going to the Fade.” Fun fun fun fun fun fun fun._ _Leaving Vigil's Keep, I'd wanted to; wanted to waste away there. Now, it only ruffles anxiety._

_Oghren snorts. “Speak for yourself. Dwarves don’t go to the Fade.”_

_“Yes, yes, we know, dwarves are_ **too good** _for the Fade,” Anders plucks._

_There are things here that have survived the damp air and thin Veil. The further we step around crumbled houses, we find unexpected oddities: town records, toys, scribbled parchment. Anders says the ink must be enchanted for the paper to hold so long. Suspects souls of children may keep the toys new. Werewolves reeking of the Taint ambush us, almost overwhelm us, but even that is not the least of my worries; as if I’ve seen Tainted werewolves before. Beyond the northern gates are incredible rips in the Veil. Shimmering walls of the grotesque pea-green and rotting-eggplant purple block path after path like they mean to direct us a certain way._

_“Look.” Nathaniel nods down the way. A tent still erect, and as we approach, a cold fire pit, a cot, and darkspawn corpses._

_“Looks like we found our missing Warden.”_

_“I_ **don’t think** _he was a Darkspawn, Oghren. I_ **think** _he was_ **Orlesian,”** _I joke._

_“That’s not what I meant.” Oghren glares at me. “Also explains how those werewolves were Tainted.”_

_“That is frightening in itself.” A locket dangles from Nathaniel’s hand. “‘All my love, Aura,’” he reads aloud. He frowns down at the cot and tent, I assume asking himself the same question I am: why would he need a cot_ **and** _a tent? “Do you think he brought a_ **woman** _here? Disturbing place for romance.”_

 _“Depends on the woman. We met a young dwarf in Orzammar who was_ **ecstatic** _Kinloch Hold had an abomination infestation,” I recall._

 _Anders makes a face at me. “Dagna? She’s as crazy as they come; I hope._ **Cute** _for a dwarf, but a few too many loose threads, if you know what I mean._ **Or** _too many_ **extras.** _The Templars threatened her after she kept asking me what it’s like to_ **be an apostate.** _She was far too thrilled to know what_ **deserting** _felt like. They brought me back right after that whole abomination mess with Uldred. You should have seen Dagna drag the misshapen bodies out. It might have been Satinalia for her.” He sighs._ **“Sadly,** _I think her madness might come in_ **handy** _in a place like this.” Anders kneels and peers into the tent with a noise of disgust. “Well,_ **whoever** _was here hasn’t been back in a while. It’s_ **saturated.** _I can’t imagine anyone sleeping on this.”_

_“No weapons, no food, not even notes. What kind of Warden takes everything else but leaves the camp standing?” Nathaniel’s eyes dance around the camp._

_“The kind who didn’t go far and expected to return?” I suggest._

_“Good thing I have my elder cousin with me. However would I manage without you?” He only glances at me._

**“Howe** _indeed?” I lean close and smile up at him. Nathaniel glares for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching to hold off a smirk. I grin wider, and my cousin breaks. Nathaniel turns his head in a grin and pushes my face away._

_“Get out of my personal space, woman.” Nathaniel begins walking. Despite the Tainted land buzzing through my bones and the foreboding Veil tears all around, a hearty laugh erupts, shaking my top half so hard I almost lose balance._

_But a sudden cry kills the humor: “Wait!” Only paces away, Nathaniel freezes with a hand up for us to halt. He cocks his head to the left, than right, ears twitching as he listens as if he’s an elf. “Cousin?” He motions me over. With a sigh, I follow. I do_ **not** _want anything worse than Tainted werewolves and half-Fade barriers._

_Before I am in line with him, my veins break out in a rushing swarm. I look ahead but see nothing different from the rest of the marsh. There is nothing new behind us; no darkspawn, no beasts. Yet the angry buzz circulates quick. I step forward beyond Nathaniel, then back to his side. The Taint is stronger ahead. Something awaits us. Waiting to ambush us. Something stronger than ogres or Blighted werewolves._

_Morrigan flashes before my eyes. Her dastardly dark ritual with the soul of the Old God. I don’t remember if the Archdemon’s Taint feels like this, but… what if? What if it’s not as strong as it used to be - yet?_

_“What is that?” Nathaniel asks, searching me. His Taint settled in days ago, but nowhere near as strong as Alistair’s. The fact he felt this before I did only builds inquietude._

_“I don’t know.” Do I look frightened? I feel frightened._

_I don’t wait for his bow to ready. Clutching my daggers tighter, I hold my breath and step ahead. Huge encrusted cocoons rest along the clearing’s edge, but no darkspawn. The angry swarm almost_ **lives** _inside me._

_Like in the Dead Trenches with the Archdemon and the marching horde._

_But there is_ **_nothing_ ** _here._

 _An invisible Archdemon? Invisible horde?_ **Nothing** _sounds ridiculous anymore._ _Where is the thing? What is angering my veins?_

_“What are these? Have you seen them before?” Nathaniel asks._

_I look over in time to see an insect the size of my dog burst from the cocoon, pincers waving in attack. Nathaniel trips trying to retreat, scrambling on his hands and feet as it climbs after him. Oghren’s battle voice blares, overpowering my cousin’s name. Something grabs my foot and the ground rushes to my back. Too fast! This is happening too fast!! Too many crawling legs, pincers like scythes, spitting, fangs, and scales! Scathed moss binds wet gravel together beneath me, I can’t grab on, the ground just lets it drag me! My scream is for_ **me** _now. My daggers! Where are my daggers?! Nathaniel yells for me, I hear Anders. Arrows and ice and stone hit the monster pulling me in with four of its six limbs. I kick and turn and try to grab the ground, but it is stronger than any hurlock or genlock I’ve seen._

 _Nathaniel kicks a dagger near and grabs his own in a leap. With Rose in my hand I twist to see foul juice squirting out. Nathaniel drops his dagger and shakes his hand with a hiss; the giant bug drops with a screeching gurgle._ _A gash in its head leaks a bright oily goo._ _Almost crying in relief, I scramble towards my weapons. “Poison! It’s_ **acid!”** _Nathaniel yells as I grab Rune and turn._ **“OGHREN!”** His voice resounds through the ground.

_“SHIT!” Anders yells. “Nathaniel’s bleeding! Help Oghren!” He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I sheath Rune and grab my bow and run._

_My dwarf - my hard-headed bronto of a dwarf - is taking on four of those blasted things at once! “Oghren!_ **Move!”** _I sprint and slide into Oghren’s glory fight with a slap of my studded bow. Rose dives and slices, I jump back for Oghren’s axe, I kick and flip Rose to stab from the side. I’m not quick enough; rancid olive-colored ooze drips on my hand. Pain like a rusty serrated blade burns through my glove right to my hand. “MOTHER--!!!!” I scream through my teeth._

_“Oghren, GET BACK! Tesslyn!!” Nathaniel yells. “Get back or you’ll die!”_

_I can’t even check my hand. I crack the teeth of my bow straight down and kick, then pull and loose. Oghren’s still not listening, he’s swinging like that’s all it takes. I shoot another, then yank Oghren by the collar. Something hits me from behind and I swing back around with my bow and kick again._ _My hand_ **_burns_ ** _like the Maker spit liquid ire!_ _We should have_ **stomped** _these things, should have shot them all taken it safe! Why did I just rush in?? “Oghren stay back!” I order him._

_“Let me sodding kill it!” he growls._

_An arrow flies past, giving me enough time to shove Oghren, but a long gangly arm moves with him. “Oh no!” Oghren’s been stabbed; few survive an abdomen wound. I chop the arm and stab the face, kick it away. A violet bolt and another arrow rush by. “Oghren!_ **ANDERS!!** _He’s got a fucking_ **thing** _in his gut!!” As during the Blight, Oghren yells and swings like he’s not hurt; pain only makes him fight harder. Anders and Nathaniel join in from afar, but I can’t let Oghren stop yet. His blade is corroding, two of my fingers hurt to the bone and my knee feels on fire. It takes effort from us_ **all** _to bring these last monstrous grub down._

_And still I can’t even rest. I have to catch Oghren, who pulls out the limb without warning. Anders runs over cursing as I lay Oghren down. His eyes tighten as he rips Oghren’s armor open; a quick glance to me says the wound is bad. Oghren yells and swings a fist when Anders pulls the wound open. Anders flicks himself almost lucent; he’s locked himself half in the Fade to look closer. It’s the only way he can examine the gouge without a beating._

_“Oghren, hitting our only healer isn’t wise,” Nathaniel joins us._

_“He stuck a sodding fist in there!”_

_“I did_ **not** _fist you, Oghren,_ **goodness.”** _Anders’ voice echoes like he speaks through a hollow log. “Besides, from the_ **stories** _you tell, I understood you_ **like** _a good fisting?” Anders teases, though his eyes are hard with concentration. While Oghren grumbles, Anders glances over his shoulder, shimmery from only half-present. “See if_ **they** _have any potions;” a dead body in armor not far. Anders is a professional Healer now, not a mage Warden._

_I nod, still holding my poisoned hand. Nathaniel’s already here, his good hand stretched down to me._

_“We need to find another poison to flush it out,” he says as we step away from the cursing dwarf. “If we try to wash this off, it will only spread.” He winces with another look at his hand. Raw skin eaten in bubbles shows through where his gloves was singed. My cousin will scar._

_Because of me. Because I ordered him to be a Grey Warden. Because he felt it was his duty to follow his Commander - or cousin - when she fled. “I am so sorry, Nathaniel,” it comes out in a whisper. “If I’d never-”_

_“Don’t trouble yourself,” he interrupts, his voice soft. “I’ll be fine. This is isn’t your fault. We don’t even know what these things are.” He kicks a dead gangly leg as we pass._

_I stop to_ _peer, hoping I will find a good excuse for coming to this haunted marsh. A excuse for putting my only allies in this danger. But the longer I look, the less I want a good excuse._

 _Contorted limbs with tiny barbs, front-most ending in scythe-like claws. Pinched, scrunched faces look almost… human. Cheeks, two uneven eyes, a crooked nub of a nose, even a mouth below; filled with fangs, though, not teeth. Distorted, but human-like._ **Ugh.** _Scaly like insects. Staggered plates, like rolling bugs; only the ones I played with as a child never attacked. The scales on these have grown akin to blistered skin. Almost reminds me of that… that Broodmother in the Deep Roads… Yech, with her tentacles coated in turtle-like skin that grew into a grotesque blistered carapace; another nightmare I have tried to forget._

 _I look around. They’re_ **all** _like that, all scaled and blistered with squished humanoid faces. They could almost be… “Oh… Maker… no. No, no, are they--?” A noise of disgust and horror scrapes my throat._

_“A new form of Darkspawn?” Nathaniel reads my mind. Zevran and Oghren taught him and Anders the known variations of spawn. I look to him, not wanting it to be true. His face troubles at my expression._

**“Potions!** _Please!” Anders sounds impatient._

_Seeking for potions doesn’t help distract me much. The dead body wears heavy armor I remember from long ago at Ostagar. A two-headed gryphon adorns his breastplate._

_“The missing Warden,” Nathaniel concludes. “Kristoff-something.” He squats and rolls Kristoff’s body over. Gaunt, aged, eyes not sunken yet. Nathaniel feels around with his good hand._ _“I can't tell how long he's been dead. The marsh has preserved him well.” He lifts an arm. I watch at it moves like the arm of a sleeping man, not a dead body. No wounds, minimal shriveling, stuck in a seeming slow-decay. I'd heard of this before but never saw it: bog bodies; natural mummification. Ancient Nevarrans started the same process in their desert; now mages handle the job. Kristoff bears little discoloration compare to mummies I've read about. His death can only be days behind us; long enough to begin preserving him_ **_and_ ** _soak his tent._

_Ugh. This Warden will need to dry out for a week at least before we can burn him._

_If only this poison was as easy to remove. I don't want to think about what_ **worse** _poisons we'll need to overpower this larval darkspawn acid._

_Anders repeats his impatient request, adding “Lyrium would be helpful!”_

_I am too disturbed overall to argue. The human-faced spawn bugs, their poison, now a mummy amidst a thin Veil. I never thought I’d see trace of a broodmother again, but the location alone of Kristoff concerns me. The body is in a dead end. To inspect Kristoff, we set ourselves up for ambush._

_But we already have. And if Anders can't heal Oghren, we aren't leaving this dead end, or this marsh. I don't need to see my cousin's face to recognize his own heed. Nathaniel's already gripping his bow tighter. As if our foreboding cursed us: as soon as I reach for Kristoff’s belt, the buzz returns. My eyes fly to Nathaniel’s._

_“Woah, woah! Hey! HEY! Could use some HELP here!” Anders cries out._

_I have no choice but to face whatever approaches. I look for exits as I stand. Unless we jump into dark swamp water, the approaching darkspawn have us trapped in a bowl of clay. With a deep breath I turn, holding my own weapons again. Anders frosts the ground so hard ice shoots up around him and Oghren in spikes. But a hurlock walks around them, guiding with a stretch of its arm a patrol of genlocks and more monstrous grub. They walk around as it does; they_ **_obey_ ** _it._

_Anders glances to me as the spawn ignore him and his ice._

_“Just as the Mother knew it.” Another talking darkspawn in intricate armor._ _My feet try to back up, but Kristoff’s body is already there; Nathaniel’s catches me. I hold my bow and Rose tighter. The talking hurlock draws no weapons. None of the genlocks raise their bows._

_“Another sodding talking one?! What are you waiting for? Kill it!” Oghren barks._

_“No, we are not wishing war.” The hurlock continues until it stops closer than I like. Nathaniel’s bow is on it in a blink, but no spawn react. The hurlock stares at me; woody eyes, only the pupils clouded, not the whole orb._ **Human** _eyes. Surveying me as did the other talking hurlock who led the attack on the Keep._

 _“Then…” it’s harder to hold my face than I thought. I’m scared they’ll smell fear. “What_ **do** _you want?”_

_“What are you doing?!” Nathaniel hisses._

_I don’t move my eyes from the hurlock. He stands heads taller than me; taller than my husband, maybe even Shale. “We have little choice right now. We’re unable to run.” The eyes before me do not cease to disturb me._ **“What** _do you_ **want?”** _I force my voice stronger._

_“We are bringing a message,” the hurlock says. “From the Mother. She has told it to me that you, the Grey Warden, can be lured if others like it are slain. And she is speaking true. You came for your Warden.”_

_“Me?” I search this thing, preferring when they did not speak. The talking one at the Keep wanted me, also. “Why me? We’re all Wardens.”_

_“You are being the One who killed the Archdemon, yes?_ **You** _are being important, not they.”_

_“Maybe your Mother needs to spend some time on the surface. Trust me when I say I’m not that important up here.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Anders in the distance looks at me like I’m mad to sass a talking darkspawn._

_“It is not the surface which concerns the Mother._ **He** _is thinking you are important, and that is why I have been sent.”_

 _“He? He who? Who are_ **you?”** _Do I really want to know if this thing has a name?_

_“I am being the First.” This thing doesn’t seem to fear me. Doesn’t look at me like a threat. Like I don’t look different than it. It’s even true to its word about not wishing combat; so far._

_It’s treating me as an equal._

_I don’t want to be its equal._

_“The First of what? Did your mother tell you I’ve killed thousands of your kind?_ **Especially** _those who ambushed me.”_

 _The gruesome scaled mouth stretches. Realization makes me gasp. Maker fucking ---!! Is it_ **smiling??** _“The Mother is only being clever, not a prophet. She is thinking you are clever also, so she is sending me to bring a message.”_

_“Message?” I echo._

_“JUST KILL IT!” Oghren yells though a wet spit._

_“Yes, a message. She is forbidding His plan to persist-”_

_“Who?” I interrupt, searching this hurlock the First._

_My mind wanders to my husband. Alistair and I_ **knew** _there was more to Darkspawn than Riordan or Duncan let on. We_ **knew** _it. How did no other Wardens know?_

 _Or_ **do** _they know yet try to hide it?_

 _“Who is_ **He?”** _I press._

 _“If you do not know, you are not to be finding out. The Mother, she has a gift for you.” The hurlock holds out a hand. Palm to the sky, green fumes swirl and flare, whirling up and around like a bleeding wilting flower. A dark orb grows above its palm,_ _and the fumes brighten around it like a watchful eye of the Fade_ _. The brighter it glows, the smaller my eyes grow._

_So… stay… heavy… hard to… look… ev-… Alisss---_

 

 

_Silence. The quiet opens my eyes._

_Ooh, my back! I feel like I slept on a rock._

_My arms wobble as I push up. Fuck, that was a strange dream. Did I drink Oghren’s secret brew again? I need to stop doing that. Queens should not wake up in random places with sore bodies._

_Someone paces. Quick, rigid, anxious. Black metal armor and red leather. “No! No! This cannot be! I am not being here! Why are you taking us with it?” A mutated face comes to view as it turns, ripping its hands off its chainmail-adorned head._

_That is_ **not** _a person._

_“You!” It points at me and marches, yanking me to my feet. “Why must you take me with it? I should not be being here! The Mother --!” Half-clouded eyes dart in panicked thought and the creature releases me. What is this thing??_

_“Mother?” I echo._

_Mother. Darkspawn. The First. Oghren’s wound, Anders’ ice. “Oh shit.” I look around. Floating boats, sideways chicken coops, whole buildings and clean ground in a place I remember only ruins and blackened moss._ _I look up, dreading, though I already suspect._

_Floating islands. Dark floating islands, the same patch over and over, dripping with vines of tar. They remain no matter how often I blink._

_The Fade. The fucking, cursed Fade._

_My thoughts go to my husband. Wherever he is, what-- whatever he’s doing… He’s somewhere, and I’m_ **here.** **Trapped** _in the_ **Fade.** **Again.** _Alistair doesn’t know where I am._ **No** _one knows where I am. Where_ **we** _are._

_I look over. Nathaniel winces as he looks around, dawning on his face. Anders looks annoyed. Oghren --_

_What the sodding void is_ **Oghren** _doing here?? He’s not supposed to be here!_ **And** _he’s got a gash in his gut! He could_ **die** _while we’re here!_ _And this thing just ---_

_I look back at the hurlock and something explodes inside me; fear, anger, don’t want to die yet. Or die like this. Not now._

_“I’m in the fucking Fade?!!” I throw my weight into the hurlock and kick a leg out. It only cushions my fall. “You sent me to the fucking Fade!!” It doesn’t expect me to punch it. “Why did you fucking send me here?? WHY?!” I hit it again; my knuckles make a sound against a soft-shell face but I feel no pain._

_“No! I am wanting out of here! I am not wanting to be trapped! Be needing you to stop! Please! Stop!” it begs, squirming, turning its head, trying to roll away, but I keep it in this stretch of Fade._

_“NO! You fucking set me up!!! You sent me to this fucking forsaken Fade!!” Someone tries to pull me off but I jerk away and yank out my Rose. “Do you know what happens when you die in the Fade?!” I hold the diamond tip over its face._

**“Cousin!”** _Firm hands rip me off the monster that deserves to die. “That’s enough!” Nathaniel’s voice lowers as he turns me away. “It sent us here. It’s our only way out right now.”_

 _I breathe, trying to catch my breath in a place breath and air do not exist. I can’t calm down right now. I did NOT want this!!_ **Days** _ago when I agreed to come here, everything hurt and_ **then** _I wanted to die. Falling into a trap in the Fade seemed the best way, and I_ **wasn’t** _supposed to know about it if I did. But_ **not now!** _Not this! I_ **don’t want to** _anymore! Doesn’t that count for_ **something,** _Maker?_

 _The First rants behind me. “I am betrayed! Trapped in the Fade with the Grey Wardens. The Mother has sent me to be trapped! Me_ **and** _the_ _Children!" Children? Those poisonous grub? They're_ ** _children??_** _Maker, how come no one told me about these things? "Now_ **we** _are the fools! How can I be doing this to us and not seeing it first?”_

 **It’s** _complaining??_ **It** _sent_ **us** _to the Fade, not the other way around!_ **It** _played_ **us** _for fools, came with words of false peace and pretended I was its equal! It has no right to complain about being stuck here!_

 _“Eh,” Oghren’s taking the Fade well for a person too good for dreams. Or a hole in his gut. “My_ **own** _mother was unreliable. One of those things you have to suck up and move on. Guess that’s not a… racial thing anymore.”_

 _“I am needing out! I am needing magic, I cannot be here!” The First saunters away, ticking in panic from abandonment. I almost laugh; they don’t come_ **close** _to knowing abandonment and betrayal._

_Nathaniel is not fast enough this time. I’m on the First in a blink, driving Rose down through its ugly face before it even hits ground. Anders groans, Nathaniel scolds me. Genlocks and grub spawn growl and hiss._

_That’s the thing about the Fade. It doesn’t matter whose dream you’re in, you always have control. You can fight it or let it consume you. You can wade in your misery or face your demons. You have the choice to see above the illusion. If you call it out, you can conquer it. I can be stronger than all these fucking darkspawn_ **Children** _if I want to be, and here, there is no acid to eat at my hands when I take_ **everything** _out on them._

_I don’t know if the others helped. Whatever darkspawn came in with that First are all dead, as we will be if we don’t hurry. “We have to get out. NOW, we have to get the FUCK out of this place!” I look around. I don’t need tears to blur vision here, only have to move my head._

_“Cousin! Calm down. Losing our heads will not help.”_

_I stare at Nathaniel with an arm towards Oghren. “Oghren will_ **bleed out** _if we don’t return, and he’ll be_ **stuck** _here_ **forever.** _You and I will lose our fucking hands! They’ll_ **infect** _and_ **fester.** _I don’t want_ **any** _of this to happen!”_

 _“All right, I understand. But we need be calm_ **first.** _No one can think with a clouded mind,” Nathaniel tells me._

 _“Wait wait wait! Wait,_ **hold** _your chariots! So this is real? The_ **real Fade?** _That thing wasn’t just talking out of its ass?” Oghren finally jumps aboard._ _He looks down and pats his middle; he has no wound in the Fade. His eyes almost blame me when he looks up._ _“Dwarves aren’t supposed to go to the Fade! We don’t sodding dream!”_

 _“She’s right. We can argue and ponder later. Right now, we need to find a way out.” Anders walks past me, looking around. “The roads are different and houses still stand.” He points towards the village. “I’m guessing this dream belongs to someone who lived in Blackmarsh. Which means that First fellow had help from within.” Anders frowns and nods down the path. “There are demons here. We need to be careful.” He pauses._ **“I** _need to be careful.”_

_I look up at him. “You can feel them?”_

_He nods. “And they can feel mages. They’re not so different from Darkspawn, now that I think of it.”_

_I wish I could argue. It was a Darkspawn who sent me to the Fade today, and a demon sent me to the Fade during the Blight. And now I wonder how and why the Darkspawn connect to the Fade._

_Rage demons. Impossible Revenants with swords that reach into the ground pull us like string puppets; I’d rather fight ogres. Swarming Shades. Desire demons huddle around altars in places Nathaniel recalls were Veil tears in the physical world._

_He watches me watch them from afar. Enticing creatures, a sight to behold, angered or pacified. Desire demons gave me the chance to be a mother, to see and hold my own children. They let me experience pregnancy when I cannot in the physical world. They gave Alistair and me a perfect life no one sought to control. It was_ **our** _life, beautiful in more ways than I can describe. I recall a desire demon at Kinloch Hold who domesticated itself to experience family, love, the pleasures of a loving husband. Things that, from afar, seem innocent and good. Nurturing._

 _They are the demons who lull my husband back to our perfect dream family and give him a different,_ **perfect** _Tess to compare_ **me** _to._ **Dream** _Tess; flawless, happy, not-afraid-of-mirrors Tess. A Tess who can grow babies, a Tess with no scars. They are dreams Alistair still enjoys to this day. They made my husband love Dream Tess more than the real me, even though he swears he wants Real Me more._

 **These** _desire demons seem to_ **worship** _where the Veil is torn. Dancing. Praising? Or focusing their energy to keep the Veil tear open? Something. Not normal. Yearning; a desperate passion for a world they can’t have, for things that already belong to someone else. They do not care their actions hurt others outside the Fade._

_I do not mind tearing these ones to shreds._

_More demons. Darkspawn corpses. We have not encountered the spirit of Warden Kristoff. The more we press on, the less it seems he was trapped where we are. Though from the lack of wounds in the physical world, Nathaniel guesses Kristoff died in the Fade. The chance of learning what Kristoff knows of the attack on the Keep seems slim._

_More demons. A crypt packed with undead no matter which way we turn. I repeat “I hate undead” so many times while we fight it almost has tune. As the undead don’t cease, my tone drops and peaks with each attack. Nathaniel can’t believe his cousin sings during battle._

_Lost twice in that stupid crypt with only one way to press on, only for a guardsman to accost us. He is no use, keeps forgetting he's in the Fade. He says there is a spirit come to help, asks_ **us** _to help it against the Baroness. He wants to return home once more - his home in Blackmarsh as he sees it here. A trapped soul sensing discord but deceived by his eyes._

_“The Baroness? Like from the tales?” Nathaniel asks as we leave the confused guardsman to his despair._

_“The same baroness who defeated an ancient dragon and, from the looks of things, enslaved the whole town in the Fade? Our options are_ **her** _and a_ **spirit?”** _Anders says in doubt. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s go with the mean, suspicious Baroness. There’s good chance that poor man believed a demon’s ruse. Demons trip you every time, make no mistake about that.”_

 _A spirit of Justice. I did not think such existed. Justice often demands good people get punished by death_ _for simple things. Innocent mistakes. Or accidents like getting_ _on the wrong side of a noble who awoke on the wrong side of the bed. In politics, justice often serves the highest bidder._

_“Tell me, creatures, do you intend to sit by while innocents are enslaved to fill the vanity of one witch?” the spirit demands of us._

_“I’ve heard this one,” Oghren says. “We went to her cozy shack in that swamp, then she turned into a dragon and tried to cook us all.” Flemeth; Morrigan’s mother. I scoff in my head. He had to point out_ **this** _similarity? “Had a bratty little daughter, too. Great rack, though.”_

_“Oghren,” Nathaniel scolds._

_“Don’t do it! Demons always trip you up!” Anders reminds in a whisper._

_“I am_ **not** _a demon! I am a spirit of Justice!” The spirit is adamant; Anders makes a face away from the spirit. “And I have come to_ **free** _these people of this unrighteous illusion! Will you aid me or not?”_

_I like the sound of it, so far. Borderline overboard-vengeance, but pure enough now. In exchange for our help, he promises to help find our way out of the Fade. Though he feels no pain from his body, Oghren grows more faint the longer we are here. We have little choice but to trust our best bet. Right now, the best bet is someone who can’t use our souls to power her pretend world._

_“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Anders sings as I accept the path of Justice._

_But the path through Justice is not what we need. The Baroness has no answers and will not eject us from the Fade. The spirit helps us in battle only, weakens the Baroness while we defeat her guards and demons. It keeps her occupied while Anders performs hex after curse of strange, strong spirit magic, and rips the Baroness apart from inside. Justice shields us as Anders siphons something_ _from the strewn pieces of the Baroness and summons another curse, creating an orb_ _of light that whistles and blinds._

 _Waking is another problem: it has been_ **hours.** _The visible moon is high in the sky - it wasn’t yet midday when we arrived. The marsh is as black as its name, now. Anders lights the area with floating Fade fire; green flames make the marsh seem_ **more** _haunted. My hand is swollen and aches like poisoned needles in motion. Nathaniel shakes his own hand and squeezes, trying to dispel - and hide - pain. Justice - the spirit of Justice from the fucking_ _Fade! - was thrown into Kristoff’s body and rants something went wrong as if it's_ **_my_ ** _fault! It carps_ _us to get up and kill the Baroness, who ‘still lingers’ in the marsh. I scream and curse at the spirit until it shuts up; we aren’t leaving without Oghren!_

_But Oghren lies in a puddle of his own blood, pale, unmoving. Not breathing. His wound is swollen, oozing, and flies swarm. I cry on my knees next to his body while Anders alternates magical healing, chest compression, and tiny zaps of lightning to restart Oghren’s heart._

_After all this -- the Deep Roads, golems, the Archdemon -- it can’t end here!_ **Oghren!!** _I implore him in my head: we’ve been through worse! You eat nightmares like this for breakfast! You can’t die on me now!_

 _Nathaniel is there when Oghren fills with breath. He holds me back with his good arm so Anders has room to work on the wound. Anders also shudders with breath; the first moment of relief since those blasted darkspawn grub attacked. He does more strange magic, putting Oghren in a coma so he can isolate the wound half-inside the Veil itself; the closest he can put a non-mage into the Fade._ _Essence of the Fade preserves Oghren's wound. There, Anders stitches, using magic in place of sanitary string we do not have right now. He says the Veil will let the wound heal enough for now._ _We must carry Oghren back - and fight the Baroness without him. We don’t have a choice._

_This place was a mistake. The spirit’s control over Kristoff’s body replaces Oghren’s axe. Anders magic heals, protects, and attacks. Cunning, survival. Will…_

_None of it matters._

_We learned nothing. We came to this marsh - me to escape, the boys following in blind trust - for_ **nothing.** _Justice has pledged his service in Kristoff’s body to the Wardens, but it does not make up for the loss. Oghren may lose an organ he’ll be furious about - if he survives losing it. A skilled Warden is dead and it’s half-mummified body wants to follow me around; it will rot outside the marsh. We drank up the bait of a false trail planted to trap us in the Fade. It makes no sense and none of it relates. None of it helps. Random pointless destruction. We gained no information other than somewhere noxious new Darkspawn are made, and something called The Mother wants me dead for killing the Archdemon._

 _I would have been_ **fine** _not knowing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	13. Trip Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are a few bandits to Grey Wardens? The Wending Wood seems like a good getaway - at first. But bandits are the least of their problems. Each escape to avoid heartache only finds Tess mourning over new wounds. It may be better to feign happiness and credulity in the safety of the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Breath of Life, by Florence and the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d58VJ-sC1uY)  
> Wending Wood: [Dream Chasers, by Future World Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YftLJBLie8o) circe 1:28 - 3:03 min

_“What do you mean_ **the darkspawn are evolving?”** _Seneschal Varel glares from Treasurer Woolsey to me._

_“Evolving?” I shake my head. “I said no such thing.”_

_“But you did, Warden-Commander. You said a talking hurlock referred to larval darkspawn as The Children and they obeyed its command. The First Warden needs to know about this-” Woolsey begins._

_“No!_ **Not** _happening!” I hold up my hands and separate myself from the First Warden’s pet money changer. “He’ll only tell me I’m not dying in the Fade wrong. Probably tell Kristoff’s body_ **he** _died wrong.”_

_Woolsey holds face and continues as if I said nothing. “We’ll need proper armor and weapons, Commander-”_

_“Stop calling me that.”_

_“- if you’re to fight these larvae without more injuries,” she always ignores that, too. “Before you arrived, the King sent word of a possible smith in Denerim the Wardens could benefit from. We’ll need to open multiple trade lines, as well. If you can requisition traders and the Smith, Weisshaupt will fund it. We_ **need** _the Wardens at their_ **best.”**

 _And the never-ending attitude of Queen Tess-Daughter of a Teyrn-Doesn’t Know How to Run a Country continues. “I don’t need Vigil’s Keep to become another Amaranthine,” I stare at her. “That will divide the county, divide the_ **people.** _They’ll fight over land and contracts and have to petition for permission to operate in this_ **new separate** _county requiring_ **new** _permits and_ **new fees,** **new** _oaths of fealty and_ **new clauses** _on business allowances. My husband would have a fit and murder half them in court before the other half could be heard, and it would be on_ **my** _head. He’s not afraid to behead people who come to court strictly to test rules.” I look from her to Varel. “I don’t mind a smith here, but Vigil’s Keep is the governing home of the entire Arling. It_ **cannot** _become a marketplace.”_

_“There is no other way to keep up the expense of Wardens,” Woolsey says._

_“Hog shit.” I tell her. Someone beyond my vision snorts._ **“I** _am the_ **Queen.** _How do you gather I got internationals to fund the_ **rebuilding** _of this country while she lay in cinders from the Blight? I will_ **not** _give in to the First Warden simply because_ **he’s** _not happy with_ **my** _methods of achievement. If I hadn’t killed the Archdemon in the first place, he would_ **not** _be alive right now to complain about me, and_ **neither** _would_ **you.** _And_ **no** _sending him_ **letters,** _Woolsey.” I try to reprimand her with my eyes. “If you wish to communicate with him, you’ll have to make do traveling back and forth to Weisshaupt. On the_ **First Warden’s** _coin,_ **not** _mine.”_

_“The First Warden will only send coin if we have a written plan for success, Commander.” She. Doesn’t. Stop._

_“Then that’s unfortunate for you. I’ll survive in my own country as I did before. Now, if there is no more talk of evolving darkspawn and ever-dissatisfied First Wardens, I need to get drunk.”_

_Anders chuckles at me from behind a pillar as I reach the doors. “As amusing at that was, she’s right, you know.”_

_“Anders, you’re fired.”_

_He laughs again, joining me as I step out to the foyer. “I thought you can’t ever leave the Wardens?”_

_“You’re not helping.”_

_“Alright, alright, I get the hint.” Anders pauses to stretch in the sun with the kitten in his pocket. “Might be worth it, though,” he says. “The Circle has its own smithy and trader, and in cities like Denerim, the Tranquil sell potions and enchanted accessories. They make a good bit of coin off it, enough to fund textiles and the upkeep of Templar arms.”_

_“But this will bloom into a sodding trading post and Amaranthine shopkeeps will revolt with pitchforks and torches.”_

_“Well, nothing’s perfect,” he shrugs. “But it might come in handy to have someone to trade with. Besides, if you don’t open an inn, they’ll all have to stop in Amaranthine anyway.” He pauses again, twisting to face me while we walk. “What if…”_

_“No, I’m not building a brothel here.”_

_Anders’ laugh explodes in the courtyard. “No, no - but I wouldn’t mind, if you’re_ **really** _considering it.” His eyes twinkle at me. “No, I was going to suggest a rare services shop. Rare ingredients, cooking and potions alike. An Enchanter, maybe, too; that would draw people in. Things people can’t get unless they go abroad or get permission to visit a Circle._ **Wardens** _can get rare ingredients. Can’t we?” he asks._

_“Depends. I’m not about to go underground to harvest Tainted venom.” I shake my head._

_“No, but we found a good stock of gems and rare plants in Blackmarsh.” He shrugs again. “All else fails, I’ll stock up on seashells and we can sell cute little cakes.”_

_“Turn Vigil’s Keep into a bakery?” I ask in doubt. “I suppose we’ll string up garland and banners? The Grey Warden: Ferelden’s unique gryphon-themed sweets complete with a cocoa stand. Our smith will exist to shape little silverite ornaments for each cake. In War, Victory - our motto hung over the door as we out-bake Fereldan competition?” Anders can’t stop giggling at me._

_“Sounds exquisite. I would enjoy a proper cocoa, myself,” Nathaniel sounds off. I turn to see him shield his eyes from the sun. Nathaniel nods at me. “And little white chocolates.”_

_I hesitate, but the longer I stare, the better my stupid idea sounds. “Alright, fine. I’ll…_ **think** _about it.” I can already imagine my reputation after that. “But_ **only** _a_ **small** _shop.”_

 _“Oh, of course. Small is…_ **usually** _perfect,” Anders ends with cheek in his grin._

_“I -- don’t want to know.” I close my eyes and breathe deep. “How is Oghren?”_

_“Howe is_ **not** _Oghren,” Nathaniel shakes his head with a wave of dismissal._

 _“Hey! That was_ **much** _better! Is_ **that** _what you did all night? Practiced?” Anders grins at him. He rolls his eyes when Nathaniel says nothing more. “And now we’re back to moody little Nate.” He looks at me instead. "Oghren’s fine.” Anders shakes his head like he wondered why we ever worried. “He’s already celebrating the survival of his liver. We may have to hide all liquor up high.”_

_“Does that mean we’re leaving again?” Nathaniel asks._

_“Why? Already? But we only just got back,” Anders’ eyes swim to both of us._

_“But isn't Oghren well? We can use his arm again. And… it’s getting about time to leave again.” Nathaniel’s trying to be nonchalant._

_“I tried that. Remember?_ **Oghren."** _I gesture towards the Keep where our dwarf should be resting. "And…” I nod toward the walking corpse in Grey Warden armor. The marsh preserved Kristoff’s body, began pickling it. While the spirit within slows decay now, it’s obvious decomposition is trying to catch up after the bog thwarted it. The body bears a similar smell to tanning leather only out a couple days._

_Right now, Justice is fascinated people exist to pull the bucket up and down the well. He keeps calling the servants ‘bucket slaves’._

_“But isn’t your husband due back soon?”_

_My eyes fly to Nathaniel. I wish I could say this doesn’t concern me. But since learning my husband lied about his destination and withheld particulars on our own country from me… It makes me wonder what_ **else** _he’s lied about, what he_ **really** _does when he goes to the tavern or night walks. The_ **idea** _of him enjoying another woman right now - as I stand here - hurts. But I can’t trust that he’s_ **not,** _not if he lies to me about_ **important** _things like riding off to diplomatic meetings. I can already see him: buttocks clenching, grabbing scar-less hips while he thrusts, his mouth clamping over bosoms that aren’t mine; someone else’s voice whimpering while he grunts. Arms with no scars pulling him closer, pulling him up. My husband grinning as the other woman climaxes in his lap. Grinning before he stick his tongue in her mouth and spills himself inside her._ **Enjoying** _himself inside another woman._

_I shake my head and my feet back up trying to escape the image in my head._

_Evil. Evil fucking waking nightmares not wanting me to forget he rode off to secretly meet Bann Alfstanna and my old- … meet Celene._ **Two** _women._

 _I don’t want to see Alistair yet. I can’t._ **Cannot** _see him yet. But he is scheduled to return in two days._

 **If** _he was honest about that._

_Nathaniel and Anders search me, concern for a horror which plagues me that they cannot see. From the rim of my eyes, I see them exchange silent sympathy._

_“And…” Nathaniel changes the subject with a nod at Justice. “Would he let Justice live?_ **We** _know he’s a spirit, but your husband doesn’t.”_

_Anders looks at me in apology. “He has a point. If Templars return and they see Justice, they’ll kill him. I have a feeling King Alistair wouldn’t be able to stop them if he wanted to. Chantry laws; you know.”_

_“Where can we go, though?” I ask. “And Oghren needs bed rest.”_

_“Oghren will be fine here,” Anders assures me. “The Keep’s medic isn’t bad, she can see to it he finishes healing. But… even with Justice, we may not have enough force if we find more of those grub-things. It might be a good idea to take some of your guard.”_

_Pádraig and his -_ **my** _\- elite guard._ **The King’s Resolve;** _the fact they all knew Alistair kept secrets from me reflects their namesake too well. They stayed at the Keep when I ordered them back to Denerim. I made them sleep in the guard barracks last night. Pádraig keeps trying to apologize. Nathaniel keeps turning him away._

 _Men who lied to me to keep my husband’s secrets. Men who lied to their_ **Queen.** _I can’t trust they’re not hiding adultery; what is a mistress compared to a political upheaval?_

_“No.” I shake my head. “They were supposed to leave anyway. I can’t…” I turn away and run my hand down mouth, then breathe as deep as I can. “I don’t want to be around people I can’t trust right now.”_

_“Where does that leave_ **us?”** _Nathaniel asks. I look from him to Anders. Two men who followed me on their own will and stayed to help, whatever their reasons for leaving the Keep. Both have been amazing. Neither ask for anything in return. They’re content simply to_ **exist** _with me. Even if it means always running with me._

 _It seems easier to cry the older I get. I already feel pressure at my eyes, but I don’t want to do it. I_ **hate** _crying._

 _I shrug, moving my eyes to try to cheat the tears back down. “Where do_ **you two** _want to go?” I ask them._

 

 

 

_“Ech. I think I stepped in mud.” Nathaniel steps off the path onto grass to wipe his boots._

_“There is a foul smell about this country. Take heed mud is all you step in,” Justice says._

_“It’s only the smell of dog,” I correct._

_“Justice, I think what you smell is yourself…” Nathaniel sighs when he lifts his boot._

_“Er… That may be. This body had another… mishap this morning,” Justice admits._

_“Thank you for that vague and suggestive visual,” Anders grimaces. His turn to sigh. “Good thing we’re in a forest. I’m sure I can find herbs for a balm. Or a carrying incense.”_

_“An incense might be best. I’m not sure this husk is meant for balming.”_

_“I couldn’t agree more. We might need one for Nathaniel’s boots, as well.” Anders tucks in a tight grin._

_“It’s_ **mud.”** _Nathaniel glares. “I dislike the way it feels when I step in it. Probably_ **because** _dung feels the same.”_

_“I thought you were a hunter?” Anders quips. “How did you survive in the forest tracking game with all that mud and dirt?”_

_“I’m an_ **archer.** _I enjoy nature, but there is a difference.”_

_“Oh, sure. Like I’m an apostate, not a maleficar.”_

_“Anders.” Nathaniel groans with a squint._

_“Why do you waste time like so?” Justice asks._

_“Wasting time is a hobby with us,” Anders is cheery today._

_“But surely if you must, there are better things to do?” Justice wonders._

_“Like what?” Anders shrugs. “Work? Actual work?” He looks at me. “Do Grey Wardens_ **do** _that sort of thing?”_

_“Apparently not,” Justice answers for me. Even with this possessed corpse intent on righting wrongs, the atmosphere of my Wardens makes me smile. Like with Oghren, there are no differences here. Even the decaying body Justice inhabits is met with little more than teasing._

_“Don’t kid yourself, Justice,” I tell him. “I don’t know what Kristoff did before he died, but during the Blight? We ran around like headless chickens half the time. I’m not joking.”_

_Anders grins. “You did that in the tower with abominations everywhere? Ah, I can’t believe I missed that. Was there clucking?”_

_“No,” I shake my head._

_“That’s a shame.” He looks like he’s imagining me strutting and clucking at Templars._

_“Clucking is irrelevant, mage. Kristoff’s memories are focused on the darkspawn attacks as of late,” Justice says. “But surely there are things to be done while we travel, yes? Research, or gathering clues.”_

_“Erm…” I hesitate._

_“Well, what was our mission_ **here** _to be? Why_ **this** _forest and not another?”_

_We all hesitate now._

_“Surely there is a_ **purpose** _for walking so far to this forest?” Justice persists._

_Nathaniel, Anders, and I answer in unison:_

_“Yes,” I say._

_“No,” says Anders._

_“In a sense.” Nathaniel tells._

_“I am beginning to doubt your leadership,” Justice states. I can’t help but laugh._

_“Lighten up, Justice,” Anders says. “We have reason to be here, it’s just… not defined.”_

_“There may opportunities here, Justice,” Nathaniel steps in. “There may also be darkspawn.”_

_“But we’re not necessarily here for either,” I add._

_“No.” Nathaniel shakes his head. “We are simply here, and there_ **may** _be other opportunities here_ **at** _the same time.”_

 _“I am unsure this method is effective. I will need to research acceptable Grey Warden recreational activities when we return,” Justice muses aloud. I sneak a peek at Nathaniel; he’s fighting a smile as well. When Justice was thrust from the Fade with us,_ _I was cautious. I thought the spirit would overpower everything human about Kristoff_ _. Now I’m beginning to think he understands more than he lets on. I’m almost confident he just jested us._

 _The Wending Wood is not as beautiful as it should be this season. There should be blossoms, birds, bees, an abundance of vibrant greens. We came here_ **because** _it should be a beautiful forest to get lost in; Anders, in particular, frequents here not only to escape Templars. Instead, we find an abandoned caravan, torn to splinters and burning. A trail of crates lead us to bandits - not uncommon here - and more containers stacked and ready to move; looters._

 _But when bandits lead us to ever-burning possessed trees, we begin to worry._ **I** _worry. I remember the Brecilian Forest: roots that caged me, tried to crush me -_ **would** _have crushed me had Alistair and Sten not chopped them to firewood. Sylvans. Demons so desperate to join this realm and obtain what they’ve long coveted they possess inanimate bodies. The burning sylvans here prove worse, careless and clawing, and when their roots entangle us, we become the bonfire with it. I cannot absorb this fire, it is real fire kept aglow by the Fade, but not of the Fade itself. Thank Andraste Anders has the magical control he does. His frost is the only reason we don’t scar._

 _Even with bandits, burning walking trees, and ravaged caravans, the Wending Wood is a sight. The Blight taught me to find beauty in potential; there is no choice when you live it. I can almost imagine these woods unscathed. Almost smell fields of flowers and see the colors they reflect on nether leaves._ _Uphill towards the old mining tunnels, ancient Tevinter ruins remain intact enough to reach the sky._ **Those** _are still beautiful. Pillars and stone art from an ancient time now forgotten. So much of it is overgrown now. How did it look in its prime? The statues of Andraste bear stanzas I don’t recall in the Chant of Light. I read them all, to Anders’ annoyance._ **They** _are beautiful, also, unwithered, as if something protects them from unforgiving weather and reckless men. Divinity?_

_Or dangerous magic. A man running for his life can’t breathe or speak to tell us why he runs. As his voice returns, cracking wood echoes off the Tevinter ruins above us. The man pushes past, leaving us alone with the reason for his fear._

_Not a step over the bridge to ascend the hill, and the ledge above our heads explodes in a shower of leaves and roots. Nathaniel grabs my arm in alarm. Vines and twisted wood slither down like stiff snakes, and as the dirt and green settles, a tattooed face appears._

_I groans without even meaning to yet. “Not another bloodthirsty Dalish.”_

_Mage robes made to reflect Dalish mysticism are torn and dirt-stained. Feathers atop shoulders are loose and out of place, one side all but ripped off._ _Dulled golden locks fall loose from a headband, and the bright eyes of the Dalish which should shine clear are so large and alert they match the wild woods around us._

 _“Who are you!” the Dalish elf demands. She doesn’t wait for an answer:_ **“Oh,** _you are one of_ **theirs.”** _A laugh sharp and triumphant rings through the air. “You will never_ **stop** _me!”_

 **“That** _escalated quick,” Anders speaks our minds for us._

 _“Why are you still here?” As if she expected us to vanish when she opened her eyes. “You are here for_ **me,** _then? How can you_ **not** _be with your weapons, armor, warr-- a_ **corpse?** _Oh, your desperation is_ **insulting.** _Leave, shemlen! Unless you wish to end up like the rest, leave now!”_

 _I sigh and roll my eyes. “No, I will not leave._ **You** _are on_ **my** _lands. I am_ **Queen** _of this Country-”_

 _Another mad laugh. “Lies! Tricks to lay my guard down so you can take_ **me** _as well? This is your last warning: leave or you will become like the rest!” In another cracking knot of vines, roots and leaves, the ground swallows the mad Dalish back up._

 _“That’s it. It’s time to nail your portrait to every tree in the country. Not knowing your monarch is a_ **crime,** _isn’t it?” Anders asks._

_“How do you feel about the Frozen South now?” Nathaniel asks without looking at me. The glare meant for the Dalish witch lands on Nathaniel. I hesitate._

_Then nod. “Frozen South.”_ _It was a joke suggestion before we left the Keep, but now... With a deep breath, I keep bobbing my head._ _“Let’s go.” But before I can turn round and lead Nathaniel away, masculine screams erupt in the distance._

_“Do you suppose that’s the elf?” Anders asks._

_“I am under the impression the elf is female,” Justice says._

_“No, I mean the one_ **attacking** _the men.” Anders' eyes meet mine. I stall; I don’t want to deal with more hot-headed Dalish. But_ **I** _am_ **Queen,** _and it is my job to protect my countrymen. If those men survive and I did nothing…_

_I am starting to loathe station altogether._

_I walk up to Anders and yank a lyrium potion from his belt. “Oh, this should be interesting,” he says, watching me uncork the vial. If that elf witch is attacking, I need to be able to intercept it. I don't_ **need** _lyrium anymore for this trick, but taking it seems to ensure it, at least it did the night Urthemiel died. I might need that assurance with this mad elf._

_“Let’s just get this over with. Then we’ll threaten them all and take over the forest for ourselves.”_

_“Sounds good to me!” Anders says, running after me._

_But it is not the Dalish witch._ _Bandits we must save from a charred sylvan. Bandits who take one look at the split tree at our feet, the scar on my face, and bow down... then attack anyway._ _Bandits who think the Queen without her King or Guard must be ripe and easy._

_“That must be really annoying,” Anders says as the last bandit falls with a gurgle._

_“If Alistair were here, they’d have run,” I tell him._

_“No, I mean the… scar thing. Everyone knows who you are just by your scars.”_

_I sigh, kneeling to wipe my daggers clean. “Yes. Yes it is.”_

_“You should see this!” Nathaniel calls from up the hill._

_“People only half a year ago stopped wondering how the King chose such a tarnished wife. Aloud, anyway.” The memory is bitter. My scar - not my history - still frightens many people away before they even come in speaking range of me._

_“Do not be ashamed of your scars, madam,” Justice tells me. “They are reminders to the world_ **you** _survived when_ **others** _did not attempt the feat.” I look at the corpse of a man I never knew. The spirit within never knew what I endured to gain these scars; does not know how many I have. He doesn’t know how scars have robbed me of the beauty of a natural body, beauty all women_ **deserve** _to have. “The memories of this body tell me the life of a Grey Warden is not easy. Your scars tell of honor and sacrifice. You should allow yourself to inspire the world. Let your scars declare_ **you** _are the reason they may continue their simple way of life naif to true horror.”_

 _“That was_ **kind,** _Justice.” Nathaniel watches us as we reach him._

_I force a smile. “Scars like mine do not inspire awe or respect, Justice. People don’t work like that.”_

_“Then they should. If I understand correctly, you killed the Archdemon before you received proper training?”_

_I hesitate. Training does not work like that either. I was forced to train myself; it was learn the hard way or die. Many times, the Archdemon taught me._

_“She did,” Nathaniel answers for me._

_“You define the measure, then, for any warrior. For honor.” Justice shakes his head at me. “Do not let common cowardice persuade you your deeds have made you unworthy.” Justice keeps walking, though my feet have stopped._

_No one has spoken to me like this before. No one has ever called me worthy._

_I want to believe him._

_I_ **want** _to._

 _But I feel the scar on my cheek every time I smile._ _And when I cry. When I yawn. When a goblet presses against my face. When I wash my face._

_I can't ever wash it off._

_Nathaniel is already watching me when I look to him. With a deep breath and a nod, he gestures behind him. “We may have a problem.”_

_My face falls with my shoulders. Of_ **course** _we have a problem. When do I not?_

 **Problem** _is an understatement._ _Aravels - Dalish land ships - and_ _containers with intricate carvings rest atop the hill, all broken. Proud craftsmanship destroyed like it meant nothing. If local-made weapons and shields did not also disrupt what might have been a serene overlook, I would say the mad Dalish witch had good reason for threatening us and killing merchants. The human weapons make the scene suspicious._

_“Where are the bodies?” Nathaniel asks. “Who defeats the Dalish yet leaves their weapons behind?”_

_Anders looks around with brows high in uncertainty. “Trophies maybe?” he guesses. “From that crazy lady, I assume the Dalish won. Do Dalish_ **take** _human trophies, though?”_

 _“Trophies tend to be things one can hang from a wall mount,” Nathaniel says. “Like antlers. I don’t think Dalish_ **have** _walls. Unless they plan to sell the swords?” He looks at me. “But then why kill all the merchants?”_

 _“Don’t discount trophies,” I tell them. “I dealt with a Dalish clan during the Blight. Their Keeper kept alive a trophy curse on humans for generations because of a single grudge. He didn’t even revoke it when the curse spread to his own clan. I had to_ **force** _him to. Dalish are stubborn like anyone else.”_

_“If these weapons are trophies, justice demands this witch pay for her crimes.”_

_“It’s_ **strange** _when you talk about yourself in the third person, Justice,” Anders says._

_“I did not speak of myself, but of the virtue I embody,” Justice explains; and there are times like this where he misses the pun._

_“It was a_ **joke,** _Justice. Ah, never mind.” Anders shakes his head with a disappointed sigh._

 _Down the other side of the hill is a straining horror. Blight wolves are the least of our concerns. Everywhere we turn, there is a new sylvan, half of them smoldering, setting the ground aflame while we try to dodge crushing roots. A reeking pit draws our attention, only to send Anders, Nathaniel, and me retching till we’re clammy and dizzy. A pit of rotting bodies; swollen and festering, oozing gore. So devastated we can’t tell if they’re elves or human. The only live human is a dying ghoul, away from the pit of corpses. His speech reminds me of a dwarf I met long ago; I wonder if Ruck is still alive? Darkspawn killed this man’s comrades and took their weapons; even if he could be healed of the Taint, he could not survive the mad elf. Darkspawn amble into view as the ghoul talks on. They wait till he is dead before stepping into range; wait before drawing their weapons._ _They wait like they're trying to build fear._ _But the fight draws more in: Another sylvan, roaring to life like the demon who resides is angry and out for revenge. Between the darkspawn and sylvan, we are outmatched. Justice holds them off so we can run, but the way is blocked. Clacking hiss; a spider den! Maker,_ **fucking** _void!! We cornered ourselves in a fucking spider den!_

_Anders was right. I should have lain my doubt aside and brought my guard._

_A Tainted spider snags Nathaniel from behind and pierces his back. I don’t remember how I reached him so fast. Blackened oozing guts drip from my arms as wedge the fangs from Nathaniel. My sleeves are so filthy I have to cut them off just to help him. I spend the next however-long moment nicking my cousin’s skin, exposing his arteries and a vein so Anders can drain the poisoned blood and use his own to replenish Nathaniel’s_ _body. Blood magic; the only kind the Chantry allows, the alliance of magic and science._ _I can’t even help donate, I bear too much lyrium;_ **my** _blood will_ **kill** _my cousin. Justice behind us finishes the spiders. Tears tremble my arms as I feed Anders health potions so_ **he** _won’t expire._

 _When I saw Nathaniel sitting in the dungeon, I could not have guessed I’d mourn his passing. He’s not even dead and_ **still** _I mourn. I mourn the Almost - the turning point when Nathaniel_ **almost** _did not come back to us. He sits pallid and shivering, head heavy, little lines of red all over, and Anders can’t even heal him yet; our mage must heal himself first. I hear the shrill elf and start after her, vengeance in my heart; if she hadn’t summoned demons into the trees, we_ **never** _would have run straight into spiders! But Nathaniel stays my legs, clutching my hand so I can’t get up. He needs me here to keep him awake, so he can walk of here with me. If he or Anders fall asleep in such weak states, their bodies will die trying to heal themselves. For now, instead of vengeance, I build a fire and mix balms. Justice keeps watch._

_There is nothing left to do now but wait._

_Nathaniel helps me balm his cuts. He tries to hide discomfort, pain; a mere frown when I, in his place, would howl and sob. Every so often he glances at me, studies my face. Deciphers my pout and my tears. He insists this is_ **not** _my_ _fault._ **_I_ ** _didn’t create the sylvans, never summoned spiders or wolves. The darkspawn approached on their own accord._

 _But it_ **is** _my fault._ **I made** _him a Warden,_ **then** _I decided to be his_ **friend.** _I decided to be his_ **cousin** _again. Because of_ **that,** _Nathaniel followed me to this wretched place._ **I** _led him here, and I couldn’t protect him. I can’t heal him._

 _And now_ **I** _gave him_ **scars.** _He’ll_ **always** _remember this place now._

 _Dusk finds us before Anders recovers enough. Between potions and weak magic, both men find balance on two feet again._ _We can't stay in the spider den all night._

_But it is also too late to start back to the Keep. We must camp here regardless._

_Here._ _In this fucking forest where that stupid Dalish and her demons destroy everything beautiful._

_Our best bet is the abandoned aravels uphill. Anders can re-light the fire pit, I can hunt, and Justice can stand watch. We have no choice but to risk the mad Dalish woman all night._

_There are no choices in this forest. At all. This place is as bad as Blackmarsh._

**_What_ ** _was_ **I** _thinking?_

 _Though, compared to the Deep Roads, nothing seems so bad -_ _until we are poisoned, set on fire, and bleed out._

 _Nathaniel needs help walking. He leans on me, making me swear not to tell anyone. Anders, who uses his staff as a walking stick, says it may take half the night or longer before Nathaniel recovers. While magic hastened regeneration, Nathaniel’s body needs to adjust to Anders’ blood inside. He says if we can catch the elf, he can repeat the transfer. Elven blood conforms to human genes, adapting to survive its environment,_ **becoming** _human blood as it circulates. Using elven blood to replace human blood loss heals the patient in_ **minutes;** _and creates a corpse. With a grimace, Anders says it is one reason Tevinter scientists believe elves are inferior; it is a reason Tevinter enslaves elves. “If all else fails, use an elf,” Anders recites an unofficial motto I presume he learned by studying Tevinter healing practices. He takes a deep breath. “In Death, Sacrifice. Right? I’ll have to keep telling myself that.”_

 _If it’s not one thing, it’s another. The mad Dalish ambushes us again, more sylvans, summoning wolves as if from thin air. With only me and Justice able to fight now, it takes too long. By the time we make it uphill to the aravels and staged weapons, night has fallen._ _Anders' magic is the only reason we know where to walk._

 _Annoyed, exhausted, long overdue for a meal; I will_ **maim** _that witch if I see her again._

 _At this moment - trying to make tents from broken aravels while I set a fire because Anders is light-headed, while I am unable to hunt because it’s too fucking dark and Maker forbid I run into more sylvans by myself -_ _now... I wonder would it not be better to suffer at home? Remain in my palace... with my fears and pain. Where I never find myself in_ **these** _positions. Where I’m never stranded in the dark with no way out._

_But that’s exactly how I felt when Alistair left._

_Is there_ **any** _place that doesn’t lead to this feeling?_

_“We must end the menace of this forest,” Justice tells us as I feed the fire built from aravel scraps. “The darkspawn and the elf.”_

_I sigh under my breath. “Justice, that is not happening. Maybe a different day, but not tonight. Not tomorrow.” Anders is still recovering; dizzy each time he stands, needs to regain his bearings if he stands for too long. It’s cold out and he is already shivering. Nathaniel is too ill to eat our dried fruit and nuts, I almost can’t even coax water down. He’s feverish, sweating, I suspect his head aches but he won’t say it, only sits at the fire with his eyes closed, and head between his knees. We_ **need** _to start back to the Keep, but we can’t._

_How can Justice not see this?_

_Because Justice never sleeps. Justice does not eat or sleep or rest. Seems Justice doesn’t have_ _memories of physical need to draw from Kristoff. Justice sees a threat and demands correction._

_“But you are Grey Wardens, and you are the Queen, are you not? Is it not your duty to see these murderers slain?” Justice presses on._

_“You’re Grey Wardens? That’s impossible! Grey Wardens don’t do this!”_

_I don’t have to look behind me to know who it is. My head drops between my shoulders and I sigh under my breath the same time Anders and Nathaniel make noise._

_“You! Witch! Have you come to submit yourself to justice?” It’s almost annoying when he does that._

_“If you tie her down, I can use her,” Anders tells me._

_“I already have murderer blood in my veins. I don’t need more.” Nathaniel disputes, eyes still closed, squeezing his temples._

_“But it will fix_ **two** _of our problems right now,” Anders tries sing. “Just saying…”_

 _“How - why did you!--_ **Why?”** _the Dalish sputters._

 _“Why what, elf?” I stand to grab another tarp from the broken aravels. “Why did we cut down your sylvans? How about: because you tried to have them_ **kill** _us.”_

 _“They weren’t for_ **you!** _They were for the_ **humans!”**

 **“We** **are** _human,” I remind her.As if she expected demons trapped in trees to discern - and mind -_ _Humans to Assault and Grey Warden Humans._

 _“Why did you come here and involve yourselves? You could have just left this alone!_ **All** _of it!” This elf is hysterical._

 _“_ **Believe** _me, I_ **wasn’t trying** _to interfere. I came here for holiday.”_

 _“For_ **vacation?!** _Who comes to a forest with burning caravans and a vengeful Dalish for vacation?!”_

_I turn around to find her already here; she followed me to the aravel._

_“Your self-awareness does you credit,” Nathaniel mutters._

_“There_ **aren’t** _supposed to_ **be** _burning caravans and a vengeful Dalish here,” I tell the elf. She isn’t intimidated by proximity. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”_

 _“You_ **still came** _here! You still got in the way!” As if we stampeded our way through with flaming brontos._

 **“You forced** _us to!” Anders defends with an arm towards the elf. His voice is still weak._ **“Your demons** _attack us everywhere we turn in this place! We’re just supposed to_ **sit** _there and_ **let** _your possessed trees kill us?”_

 _“But if you’re Grey Wardens, why didn’t you just kill the darkspawn and leave_ **me** _alone?”_

 _“Oh Maker,” I groan. How does she not understand this? “One, we didn’t know there were darkspawn here. I am_ **not** _jesting when I say I came here to_ **get away.** _This_ **should** _be a calm,_ **normal** _forest with a_ **nice,** _clear road suitable for trading caravans. Two, Anders is_ _right,_ **we never** _attacked_ **you. All day** _you forced us to_ **defend** _ourselves_ **from** _you._ _We can’t even enjoy a nice simple stroll though a forest without you attacking us!”_

_The elf looks like I slapped her. She never considered this._

_“Did you even stop to think the people you murdered might have_ **also** _been passers-by? Like us?” Anders asks._

 _“I - no, of course not, I was -_ **No!** _They_ **weren’t!** _The humans took Seranni! They were not simple passers-by!”_

 _“Well, there was only_ **one** _human left and he was Tainted from fighting_ **darkspawn.** _Darkspawn, not humans.” I glare at her. “You killed my people. Good thing I decided to_ **vacation** _here, because otherwise I wouldn’t not have known the trouble you caused. But the fact you’re_ **Dalish** _leaves me with little I can do to see your murders brought to - justice.” I almost kick myself. The puns are getting awkward now._

_“She should be killed,” Justice advises._

_“If she were not Dalish, I could do so without repercussion.” I gather the rest of the tarp and drag it to tent I was erecting for Nathaniel before this mad Dalish interrupted. “Elf,_ **every** _single time we see you it’s because you’ve inserted yourself into_ **our** _party. How do you_ **not** _see the nuisance you are? Or did you think you could_ **get away** _with it because not even the_ **Queen** _can touch a Dalish on her_ **own lands?** _In fact, if you don’t want a political incident that_ **banishes** _Dalish from Ferelden, you need to return to your clan_ **right now.”**

_“I can’t. I left, and they’ve moved on.”_

_“Then nothing keeps you here but your own motivations,” Justice says. “You are a wicked entity and must be removed.”_

_“So our only options are letting the_ **_Darkspawn_ ** _have her, killing her_ **_ourselves,_ ** _or_ **_banishing_ ** _her from sight and_ hoping _she doesn’t sneak_ **up** _on us again?” Anders says. "I vote options one or two."_

 _“Why would the darkspawn want_ **me?** _” the Dalish scoffs._

 _“Probably to make Shrieks,” I nod. “That’s where Shrieks_ **come** _from,_ **elves.”** _It’s almost a compulsive need to return her annoyance. Her presences is exasperating._

_“That can’t be right.” She shakes her head swift._

_“Well, they certainly don’t want the_ **humans.** _They piled them all in a_ **pit.** _That way,” Anders points somewhere off behind him._

 _“Wait…” the elf’s stare is so potent I can feel it move around us like a fan. “Are you saying the_ **darkspawn** _took my people?”_

_“I thought you said your clan moved on?” I retort._

_“Not all of us. We thought…_ **I** _thought… humans took our people. So I stayed to avenge them. Seranni… my sister, was one of the few that stayed behind. The rest of our clan disagreed and moved on. But now Seranni’s gone, and the hunters that stayed behind…”_

_I look over to find her staring at the four graves._

_“That does not excuse your heinous crimes,” Justice informs._

_“No, it doesn’t,” Anders agrees. “You killed innocent people all because you thought they took your people? Wouldn’t you have found your clan-mates by now if they had? All the humans are dead. The darkspawn killed the ones you didn’t. You sister and whoever else would've shown by now.”_

_“The Darkspawn took Seranni? … well, how? How do I get her back?” the Dalish looks at us like we have the answers._

_“I don’t know. Why don’t you find out where they are and_ **ask** _them? They might even tell you. They talk now.” I nod again, hoping it scares her off._

_“I can’t.” Then she gasps. “But you can! Wardens can! Grey Wardens can defeat them, right?” She is not scared off._

_“No!” I shake my head. “Absolutely not! I will_ **not** _venture the Deep Roads looking for_ **one** _elf!” Years ago, I did the same for one dwarf. That was nothing but a nightmare I still suffer from._

 _“Then make_ **me** _a Grey Warden!_ **Then** _I will leave! I will find Seranni myself!”_

 _“Oh no.” I shake my head again and turn, shooing her away with my arms. “Not a fucking chance. I do_ **not** _want you under my command. You already don’t respect the crown on my head-”_

_“There is no crown on your head,” she interrupts._

_“It’s_ **figurative.** _I’m the_ **Queen.** _There’s_ **always** _some sort of crown on my head.” I close my eyes for a moment and breathe deep. Fucking testy elves._ **“And** _you interrupt me. You’re_ **not ready** _to be a Grey Warden. It is not something you just_ **hand** _people and send them on their way with. You join an Order and must follow rules. Considering your clan_ **abandoned** _you for not listening,_ **you** _clearly can’t do_ **either.”**

 _“But if darkspawn took Seranni, then I want to defeat them! I must get my sister back! I --” she looks_ _around, trying to compose herself. Her sudden change is too much for me._ _“Let me prove I’m ready! Let me help you!”_

_“It’s too late for that.” Nathaniel shakes his head. He still hasn’t moved from his spot at the fire._

_“There is still_ **one** _way she can help,” Anders reminds us. The blood transfer._

 **“No,** _Anders!” Nathaniel growls._

_“You are hungry, yes? Surely you’re hungry!” the elf insists. Before any of us can answer, she burrows herself in a jutting pile of roots and disappears underground with a crack._

_For a moment, aside from wondering what happened, we enjoy the silence. It’s almost the first silence since we entered this forest. Welcome, yet considering the elf…_

_“What are the chances she-”_

_A loud crack interrupts me and spits the Dalish witch out in a mess of leaves and twigs. Four lifeless rabbits hang from her hands by the ears. “You are hungry, yes? You have no meat roasting, no stew. You_ **must** _be hungry.”_

_“You killed bunnies?” Anders looks horrified and stricken._

_“For food! You need meat just as we Dalish do. Don’t you?”_

_“But fluffy, innocent bunnies?” Anders asks.His hands protects the small bulge at his chest; Ser Pounce-a-Lot._

_I don’t know what to say. This female is acting strange._ **More** _strange than she was already. She thrusts three rabbits at me. My hands take them before I can tell myself not to._

 _She’s keeping one for herself. She… expects to eat with us?_ **Oh** _no! No no no!_

 **“Now** _I have game to skin and clean?_ **I** _won’t be sleeping tonight.”_

_“What? Oh.” She takes the rabbits back. In a blink, more shoots of hard roots eject from the ground and grab the rabbits, taking the skins when they retract._

_In the dark night with nothing but firelight and the hard shadows it casts, that looked particularly sinister._

_And the camp is silent once again. I can’t help but stare as the innards dangle and knock against each other in a wet, dripping tangle._

_“Where is a skewer?” The elf scoffs when she looks around. “You have nothing to cook on? How did you expect to eat?” She makes another noise. “Do I have to do_ **everything?** _What would you do if I wasn’t here?” She does more magic with her free hand, only for a sharpened pike to shoot up out of the ground._

 _Discounting her lethal bending of nature,_ **_is she joking?!_ ** _What would we do if she wasn’t here?_

 _An iron grip tugging at my wrist and lines on his face; Nathaniel suspects we are next. “Maybe one large tent,” he whispers. For me, him, and Anders. I can’t agree more. Better not to let her catch us alone_ **and** _vulnerable._

_The Dalish woman sits and begins to shove the stick through a skinned rabbit._

_“No no no!” my voice and feet return. “Sorry, elf, there is_ **not** _enough room here for you.”_

_“What? Don’t be ridiculous! There’s plenty of room!” She accuses me with her eyes._

_“No there’s not,” Anders chimes in. “And stop! Maker, you can’t just shove them on like that. You have to_ **clean** _them first. Who taught you to hunt anyway?”_

 _“I’m not a hunter! I was the Keeper’s First! I never caught meat. If_ **you’re** _so clever,_ **you** _do it!”_

 _“I_ **am** _so clever.” Anders retorts. “But you’re still not welcome here. We_ **don’t like** _murderers.”_

_“But - ! I just brought you food!”_

_“As if that makes up for your crimes.” Justice glares._

_“He’s right,” I say, snatching three of the rabbits from her. “Thank you for the meal, but you should be feeding the families of the people you killed.”_

_“I will_ **not** _leave!” She stands and glares like I’m being unfair. “I wish to become a Grey Warden!”_

 _“Being a Grey Warden will_ **not** _allow you the freedom to tromp off after your_ _sister. Nor murder people on blinded speculation.”_ _I say. “That’s not what Wardens are about.”_

 _“Then make me one_ _and I'll look for my sister_ **_while_ ** _I help you rid the darkspawn of this area!_ _From the look of things, you need all the help you can get right now!” Maker help me! This defiant woodsy witch!_

 _“We only needed help because you sent demon-infested trees after us!” Anders protests. “We’re in this position_ **because** _of you! What we needed was for you to stop, but apparently not killing every human you see is too hard for you.”_

 _“But_ **you** _are all humans and-”_

_“You could not be a trustworthy Warden,” Justice informs her._

_“Will you let me finish!” she hisses._

_“No. Go away.” I know what she meant: we are humans yet she did not kill us. But she tried plenty hard._

_“But I want-”_

_“No. No no no no no.” I do not want to deal with this elf all the way home, er even through the night._

_Willing her away does no good. Anders, Nathaniel and me lay in one tent to keep watch over each other, but it seems every hour we are woken anyway. Justice scolds the Dalish witch for sneaking in shadows. He scolds her for creeping up behind the statue. He chides her for climbing up over the ruins and trying to sleep near our campfire. By the time Justice stops threatening, the sky is beginning to gray and the birds awake. Needing to sleep but now unable, I bury my face in my headrest and try not to wake Nathaniel and Anders with my tears._

_I am weary. I want to go home. I never should have come here._

_I never should have run away._

_It doesn’t stop there. Our feet drag. Anders made stamina potions while we ate but it does little good now. We have_ **days** _to go till Vigil's Keep is in sight; at this rate, Nathaniel will be healed and fine. And the witch persues us all the same._

 _Every so often she falls in step behind us till she riles my spent nerves with questions and I scream at her to leave. She questions_ **everything.** _Says her name is Velanna, wants us to stop calling her ‘witch’. Bothers us to know what powers Grey Wardens have against Darkspawn. Asks if there are official uniforms to wear and if they hold enchantments._

_She catches us again to stand watch with Justice at night; trying to prove her sincerity or some hog shit. Nathaniel urges me to let her stay, let Justice keep her in check. Unlike her visits the night before atop the hill, this night is quiet, restful. We sleep hard, hearing not a sound from Justice. Come sunrise, we find Velanna slumped against a large tree, mouth hung open, staff only in her arms because of the angle the tree wedged it in. Justice says he was unable to wake her._

_I do not intend to waste the moment. My party of Wardens hushes and hurries,_ _whisking away_ _on our tiptoes before Velanna can wake. Our breath breaks in relief when it seems we have lost her for good._

_But nothing is ever that fucking easy for me. Today fares as yesterday, only this time, Velanna damn near stops my heart exploding up from the ground in her fit of roots and vines._

_She is worse than city strays at the butcher’s hut._

_Her hobby of hiding underground in roots doesn't end. Like yesterday, she retracts into the ground each time I start after her, jutting back up a few moments later to ask why we left her behind or "How much longer?"_

_Velanna. Just. Won’t. Go. Away._

_How the fuck do I get myself in these situations?? I can’t ever win._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	14. Sap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To everyone's dismay, Velanna survives the Joining. But Velanna's vengeance for her sister becomes a metaphor for the destruction Alistair's secrets caused Tess. Nathaniel is concerned - One day, Tess must stop running. Then what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Velanna's Joining: [Dream Chasers, by Future World Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YftLJBLie8o) circe 1:28 - 3:03 min  
> [The Sound of Silence (cover), by Disturbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Dg-g7t2l4)  
> 

_“The elf lives, Your Majesty.” Varel gets to his knees with a silent sigh._

_“Great._ **Now** _we’re_ **stuck** _with her,” Anders says, eyes large in dread and accusation._

_Nathaniel glares at me, arms over his chest. “You need to stop recruiting people in spite.”_

_I can’t wipe the scowl off my face. The odds of surviving the Joining potion should not be this good! “But it should have worked with her!” I hiss._

_I could kick myself!! I scream inside my head. Nathaniel’s right, recruiting in spite does NOT kill people!_

_“Why? Because she was Dalish?” Nathaniel asks._

_“Because she’s a murderous raving lunatic!_ **That’s** _why!” I gesture with both hands to the sleeping, twitching elf on my throne room floor as if her presence proves it. It should prove it. Her presence caused us unending strain and annoyance since we first stepped into that forest._

 _“She may be_ **punished** _now, though. Can she not?” Justice says. We all look at him. “You stated concern punishing her as a Dalish. Kristoff’s memories tell me once a person becomes a Warden, they grow disconnected from their old life. Does that mean this witch can stand accounted for her murders in the forest?”_

 _I hold a finger out at him. “That is..._ **Brilliant!”** _I look around. Sunset draws near. Leaving tonight may not be wise - and a proper hot meal and night’s rest would be nice. But there was a man in Amaranthine wishing the Wardens would stop the Wending Wood murders. I can order Velanna to report to him. If I can’t fucking kill her with the Joining, I’ll try with humiliation. “As soon as she awakes, we will ride to the city.”_

_“What if she awakes tonight?” Nathaniel asks in doubt._

_“Don’t give her any fucking ideas, Nathaniel Howe!!” I hiss again with my finger at my mouth._ **“If** _she wakes up tonight, put her back to sleep!_ **I** _want a decent night’s rest as_ **well!”**

 

 

 _And the night only gets_ **better.** _My handmaiden Blaire enters while I undress for my bath. The look on her face is already bad news. I learn my husband has not returned like he should have. Two letters arrived for Pádraig while I was away, both from Alistair; Pádraig failed to mention this when I returned. The second arrived only a day ago. From Pádraig’s urgency to respond to the second letter,_ _Blaire believes Zevran found Alistair. She says the two of the elite guard left for Redcliffe on the Anderfels horses; our fastest steeds._

_Redcliffe. Alistair only now arrived at Redcliffe. He should have arrived two weeks ago._

**If** _there was unrest with Celene and the Waking Sea, I could have dissolved it in minutes. No need to stay two extra weeks._

 _I do not believe Teagan would let Alistair engage with any mistresses._ **If** _Teagan knows. But I also know Alistair will not hesitate to threaten Teagan - a man he considers father and friend - if he thinks Teagan will deprive him of something he deserves. And Alistair believes he deserves everything he wants._

_He is a true King, now._

_Very different from the man I wished would respect himself._

_He is a_ **good King,** _but the man I married was not a king._

 _My bath is cold and bleak. Steam rises around me, but realization is a stone from the Frozen South. My husband does not care how he affects me. He did not write me to say he’d be late. He wrote Pádraig to update on the_ **trouble in the Bannorn,** _but he could not find time to write his wife._

_I can’t sleep. Again. My head is full and my heart doubts everything from the past four years. From since I met my husband._

_Captain Garavel’s Keep soldiers now stand watch for me. They are professional. We are not friends. They guard this fortress, not me._

_I like it better this way._

_Healing and detoxification potions work in Nathaniel while he slumbers. Oghren has recovered from Blackmarsh; asleep from using his liver as if he almost never lost it. Justice wanders the halls; servants burn incense sticks in each torch when he is inside. Anders sleeps so hard he does not hear Ser Pounce-a-Lot chase whatever cats see past midnight. The vexing Dalish twitches in rough sleep in some room down some hall._

_Pádraig and his elite guard remain in the barracks, to Garavel’s displeasure. There is not enough room for them and the Keep’s guard, but Pádraig and his men refuse to leave. I suspect they fear my husband’s wrath more than mine. If I had the mind to punish my husband, I would string them up. But I know where that sort of mind leads: Alistair, and Anora. Killing when there is no honorable reason. Killing to make an example._

_I already led that life. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I already thought I left that part of me behind._

_But considering my husband now... I did_ **not** _leave it behind._ **Nothing** _hardens anyone like distrust and solitude._

 

 

_My tiara of laurels and a pearl shouts of my heritage. Today, I represent my parents; I am not the wife of a Theirin King. My gown glitters, Cousland blue and silver bleed purple and pink the evening sun over Amaranthine. Pádraig stands ahead, voice bounding off the city wall before us as my elite guard files into formation with noise of their own. A hoop keeps my gown above the ground, but Blaire and one of Teagan’s fussy maids hold the tail up. My Wardens stand ready behind me._

_Pádraig stares as I walk though my human corridor. He grew nerve to speak as we rode from Vigil’s Keep. He asked whom I hoped to impress, or who I aim to punish. I shook my head, then. “Not punishing, General,” I told him hours ago, “I am correcting.” Right now, I glance to my newest Warden,_ _then back to Pádraig._ _His gaze shifts to Velanna, who cringes away from the bowing and attention. He peeks at me again, and his mouth hitches in a silent sigh before he looks away._ **Now he understands.** _Velanna dismissed my authority. She called me a liar, tried to kill me, dismissed my personal boundaries, and so disrespected my sacrifice. In public, I am proving her wrong. If Pádraig doesn’t stop lying for Alistair, he will be next._

 _Today, I am Queen, and I am_ **done** _being disregarded - including secrets that help dismiss all I’ve sacrificed. I almost died saving everyone. I deserve respect for that alone. This ceremony is my announcement to my country: the Queen will not tolerate disrespect._

 _When Cailan made me promise to rule beside Alistair, did he know what would happen? He must have predicted half of it. He knew I could change Alistair into a King; the king Cailan_ **desired** _to be but could not due to Anora? But did Cailan know, in turn, the King I made Alistair into would change_ **me?**

 _The process of nobility. I finally_ **feel** _it._

 _And now I realize: I am not the wife my husband wanted. I am the Queen_ **Cailan** _wished for._

_I am now also what Bryce Cousland wanted for his daughter._

_Velanna’s realization settles like Pádraig’s when we find the Merchant’s Guild representative. After watching the city bow before me like a rolling wave as I walk, Velanna reports. I make her. I emphasize an elf killed the Guild’s people, make her offer condolences to the families she left fatherless and hungry. I hand her gold and make her pay the Guild; it is a loan on her stipend. I make her stand accountable. Justice, disguised by heavy perfume, approves only when Velanna squirms and begs to leave._

_When we set off towards an inn, Velanna erupts in a small fit of outrage. She demands why I humiliated her so. I don’t stay my tone when I face her: “You tried to kill me, you tried to kill my cousin, you tried to kill the only people I trust. You_ **killed** _countless merchants and guards - good men and women with families. You claim your_ **own** _sister is so important, but you did not consider the sisters - or children - of all those you murdered. As_ **Queen** _I cannot allow your actions against my country to go unpunished. Being a Grey Warden is_ **not** _a freedom, not for you. This is_ **my** _way of keeping you in sight so_ **you** _pay your dues._ **You wanted** _to be a Grey Warden. You_ **must** _represent us,_ **no** _exceptions. Mistakes are owned and compensated. If you find yourself incapable of such, then I have no use for you.”_

 _I don’t need to catch Pádraig’s eye to realize I am in part punishing Velanna to punish Alistair. Like Velanna, Alistair did not consider what his actions cost me, how they still affect me. If anyone other than the King was caught lying, sneaking, and hiding political unrest, he would have been flogged in public. If a commoner or lesser noble did all that against royalty, they’d die in the noose. But my husband is King. He is higher in rank than_ **me.** _The King can do whatever he wants. I did not mean to punish Velanna in his stead, but it already happened. Lucky for me, their crimes against me are similar and I did not spout irrelevance in public._

_My husband’s crimes. Maker, what has my life become?_

 

 

_Delilah’s house is small. It is not big enough for us all, but I prefer it this way. Nathaniel reached out to his sister for accommodations. He, I, and Anders are here. Justice stands watch outside in the garden with two of my guard. Oghren chose to stay at a tavern to drink. I sent Velanna to an inn, and Pádraig and my guard are in the Chantry. The Revered Mother already sent a Templar over to express her displeasure in my negligent precautions._

_I’ve gotten myself in something deep. I am running the country as Queen from Amaranthine, while the King is running it his way from wherever he goes. The people have noticed I am alone and in charge. Reprimanding Velanna for her crimes in public gained considerable attention. The city now realizes I’m good for more than alms. The Constable asked for my help ridding the smugglers. People loitering at market stalls gave me double-takes before fidgeting away guilt-ridden. Roaming Chantry brothers and sisters asked me to visit the Chanter’s Board. A city guard thanked me for thwarting a public fight; I wasn’t aware I’d done such a thing._

_I am worth something today. No matter the reason, today I am the fearsome warrior who killed the Archdemon. Not just the wife of the King._

_And it seems to show on my face. Delilah joined me for tea, insisting I looked in need of company. She only went to bed moments ago after trying to distract me with silly stories as a commoner’s wife. Now, nocturnal Nathaniel slides into her seat and helps himself to steaming tea._

_“Did you and my sister have a good talk?”_

_“Why do I get the feeling you already know the answer to that?” I ask._

_The teacup hides Nathaniel’s smile. “It’s not my fault your girlish giggles echo here.”_

_“Hm. No. I suppose I can blame your sister for that one,” I tease._

_Nathaniel is quiet, now._

_“Oh, dear.” I sit up and take a deep breath. “Am I in trouble now?”_

_“What makes you think that?” He frowns at me._

_“You hesitated.”_

_“Actually… I wanted to mention two things. But I am trying to find the right approach, first.”_

_I’m not sure I like the sound of this. I take another deep breath and finish my tea. “Well… I’m the Queen. I can… take it, I hope.”_

_Nathaniel’s turn to breathe loud. “All right.” He sips to hesitate. “That was kind of you. The gold. It might annoy her to find them all, but I want you to know I appreciate it.” The sovereigns I hid in small stacks around the house. When Delilah came out for tea, I managed to play it off like I was only looking for a drink but did not want to wake her. “Delilah refuses to collect her dowry. I_ **think** _she actually_ **likes** _living simple.”_

 _“It’s not so bad. It’s refreshing not to be followed all the time. Or treated like I’m incapable." Wait..._ **Delilah.** _Not me, Delilah._ **"** **She’s** **.** _Like_ **she** _is.” I look away and exhale hard. From the corner of my eye, Nathaniel’s watching me. “I’m sure Delilah enjoys the independence…”_

_“It seems to suit her, and Albert seems like a good man. Doesn't he? At any rate,” he plays along with my cover up, “thank you. I’m sure they will need it come winter.”_

_“You know me.” I shrug. “I always carry hundreds on me. I might as well do something good with it.”_

_Nathaniel pauses again, sitting stiffer than usual. I have the feeling he doesn't know how to ask the second question. “Hiding it was a good idea." Stalling with the gold. "She would have denied you otherwise.”_

_“You’re hesitating again.”_

_Nathaniel passes a brief smile. “I’m…_ **this** _is the one I need to approach right…”_

_“Loose.” If only all things can be approached like archery, though._

_He winces while he sips. I almost see him crossing out words in his head and scribbling again. “Do you miss him?” he finally says._

_“Him?”_

_But I realize_ **who** _as Nathaniel opens his mouth: “Your husband.”_

_“I don’t want to talk about this, Nathaniel.”_

_“Do you?” he ignores me. “I was watching you and Delilah. Sometimes when she spoke about her marriage, you looked… forlorn.”_

_Yes. Yes I do miss my husband. But he also lied to me and he is halfway across the country when he should have already returned. It_ **hurts** _to miss him._

 _“We keep running; I know it’s from him. I suppose… what I want to know is: Do you see a day where we_ **don’t** _run?” His stare is magnetic. I can’t stop my eyes from peeking._

 _“I don’t know.” I still have thought that far ahead. A wave of panic washes over me when I hear he will return and… I run. I ride away. I can’t face him yet. I already planned on leaving again in a few days. If he left Redcliffe already, he may be here in four days. The_ **idea** _of seeing him again wracks my heart. How do I know the lips he'll try to kiss me with haven't... been all over someone else?_ **If he can lie about diplomatic meetings...**

 _“Eventually he will find us. Or he will be at the Keep when we return. What do you plan to do when that happens?” When I don’t answer, he continues: “That may not be something I can help you with. He’s_ **your** _husband.”_

_“No, I know…” I watch my fingers turn my teacup. I don’t know if he can see my lachrymose eyes. “It’s easier not to think about that. It-” my voice breaks anyway. “It hurts,” I whisper. “He wasn’t like this when I married him, you know. He never lied to me. He was...”_

_“Different?” Nathaniel offers. “He grew up in the Chantry, didn’t he?”_

_I nod._

_“Responsibility changes people,” he reveals insight on himself._

_A noise leaves my throat. “You aren’t kidding.”_

_“Kingship is the greatest responsibility in our country. You, I don’t think changed much from when you began your studies. At least not as far as how to prioritize. For a noble, it’s part of growing up. But for a man who grew up a commoner…” Nathaniel shakes his head._

_“It lets him take his anger out on people.”_

_“..._ **I** _was going to say it numbs them to the little people they once were.” His brows are high in a slow nod. “Commoner to King is a mighty leap.”_

_“That’s also true,” I agree. When I sniff, Nathaniel excuses himself, and brings me a handkerchief._

_“But what is he angry about, I wonder?” he asks._

_Common cotton drags against my skin almost like sandpaper; the silk I am used to is much softer. I have to remember to dab, not wipe. I’m very aware of my huge disgusting scar right now. “He’s still mad at Eamon for Isolde’s cruelty as a child. He’s mad at the mother he doesn’t remember_ **dying.** _He’s angry at Cailan for protecting him but not being a brother. Angry at Maric for abandoning him. Sometimes he’s still angry I wanted him to be king in the first place… before I fell in love with him." Breath catches for a moment. "I_ **know** _he’s angry we have to plan for our_ **Calling** _in twenty… or so years. He’s angry I can’t give him the_ **children** _we have in the_ **Fade.”** _I shrug. “Take your pick. There is plenty.”_

 _“Those sound like_ **fears,** _to me. Not…” he trails off when he looks at me. “Not reasons to be angry. From my standpoint, anyway,” he rushes. “They are things that might frighten_ **me.”**

 _“He gets angry and doesn’t speak to me for_ **days** _when I show I’m able to think for myself.” I can almost see the glare on my face. “That doesn’t sound like fright to me.”_

_“Maybe he thinks you’ll leave him?” Nathaniel’s eyes search me._

_“You have no idea how many times he and I have fought over that.”_

_He hesitates again, searching me harder. “Are you_ **afraid** _of him?”_

_I don’t answer right away. Nathaniel’s brow drops in potent disapproval._

_“Does_ **he hit** _you?” As if he could stand up and punch my husband if I say Yes._

 _I shake my head. “He’s never hit me. He…” I look away. “Alistair likes to yell. He doesn’t_ **need** _to hit me.” My breath shakes inside my chest. “His yell terrifies me._ **That** _is what I’m afraid of._ **That** _is why I don’t want to think about what happens when I’ll see him again.”_

_“Do you even love him? Or is that just a ruse to quell him?”_

_“I do… Did…?” I shake my head. “I don’t know anymore. It gets harder to convince myself the more he…_ **screws up.”** _Alistair’s words, not mine. “I don’t_ **know** _if I love my husband anymore.” Alistair is running out of things left to test our marriage. I never thought he would stoop to adultery or hide political unrest from me to test it. At this point, it doesn’t matter if the adultery is real. What king thinks he can hide political unrest from his queen? What king lies about where he goes when everyone knows him? Is there even anything left after this? The longer his lie and avoidance continues, the more I don’t want to give him any more chances._

 _Because Alistair does not make up for hurting me. He just… acts wonderful in a_ **new** _way._

 _I don’t want to spend the rest of my life going through new phases just to have a decent husband. To have_ **my** _husband back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	15. Wisdom or Mistake?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velanna teaches Anders Dalish magic. Despite their personality clash, this hidden side of Velanna intrigues the party, and the Dalish witch who once sought to kill them becomes _just another Warden._ No differences. No outcasts. Respect for Velanna grows as Seranni helps them frees them from the Architect's dungeon. Then Tess discovers something that could change her life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Leaving Amaranthine: [You're Welcome, by Jordan Fisher ft Lin-Manuel Miranda (Moana OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DLzyvT4eUo)  
> Velanna: [Blackheart, by Two Steps from Hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbttZVTSJRU)  
> Velanna the Tutor: [Pillars of Earth, by Audiomachine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XCZEQXguP4)  
> Prisoners of the Architect: [Warriors, by Imagine Dragons ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SMA_W_5y1E)

_Velanna doesn’t use horses. She calls it perverse humans don’t treat them with more equality. Instead, she walks behind, every few moments letting roots and vines swallow her into the ground only to spit her back out a step ahead of us. It took the horses this long not to start when the ground cracked open. Now they blow in annoyance._

_“She’s not as bad as her first impression, you know,” Anders says as Velanna shoots up from the ground like a brittle hot spring._

_“You’re fired,” I say without looking at him. Anders laughs._

_“Can a man be fired from the same job twice?” Nathaniel jokes from the other side of me. He responds to my glare with a chuckle and grin as wide as his face._

_“You really want her around the Keep all the time?” I complain._

_“I’m not sure we have much of a choice.” As if on cue, the ground cracks open again. Anders raises his head to watch for Velanna’s next expected point of return; almost straight ahead of his gaze. With raised brows, he looks to me with a gesture to the elf. “My point?” It is all the explanation needed._

_I sigh and turn my head. “Velanna!” I call, my eyes toward the sky past Nathaniel; not close to the elf._

_“Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?” she already retorts._

_“Not when I’m not gutting things,” I shake my head. “Anders wants to learn that thing where the ground swallows you up like an angry snapping turtle.”_

_“How did you know I was going to ask?” Anders asks._

_“It’s_ **nothing like** _a turtle!” Velanna flusters._

_“She reads minds,” Nathaniel answers Anders. “It’s quite disturbing sometimes.”_

_“It_ **is too** _like an angry snapping turtle,” I argue the elf._

 _“It is not!” She huffs and stamps further away. “Besides! I see no motivation to teach_ **any** _of you_ **any** _Dalish secrets!”_

 _“It can’t be_ **Dalish** _secrets,” I look over. “I know a human witch who knows equally creepy ancient magic.” That swarm thing Morrigan once did was most unnerving._

 _“If your_ **witch** _was_ **human,** _then it_ **wasn’t Dalish** _magic she knew.”_

_“You may have to agree to disagree,” Nathaniel speaks up._

_“Or take off your clothes and fight it out,” Anders suggests, a violent smirk on his face. Eyeballs all around land on him, and Anders laughs with a sheepish grin._

_“I asked the same thing when she ran through the house after that bratty daughter of that old general.” Oghren shakes his head. “She wanted nothing to do with it then, either."_

_“All right, all right!” Anders chuckles. “Ah, it was a_ **good** _short dream, though.”_

_Velanna makes a noise of disgust. “Humans and their vile fetishes.”_

_“That’s hardly fair._ **Oghren** _isn’t human,” Anders still grins._

_“As if you think that persuades me to teach you anything!”_

_“Well… we_ **do** _need to go back to the Wending Wood. Don’t we?” He asks. Anders looks innocent enough, considering his previous comment._

_“We are?” Velanna has another change of heart. “We’re going back for Seranni?”_

_I glare at Anders. “Did I say such a thing?”_

_“You indeed did,” Justice replies. I sigh under my breath. In Ferelden, Justice is_ **always** _honest_ **only** _in Kristoff’s body. Our dead companion is also on foot, though his legs keep pace with our steeds better than Velanna does. “It was implied we would return to correct the darkspawn once the thief and the mage healed.”_

_Nathaniel shakes his head. “Justice, stop calling me that.”_

_“But you_ **are** _a thief. You, too, have yet to pay for your crimes,” Justice insists._

_“I already owned what I tried to take,” Nathaniel rolls his eyes. “And clearly I never got away with it.”_

_“That is not the point,” Justice tells him._

_“Boys,” I groan._

_“You moan at us a lot, you know that?” Anders keeps a straight face._

**“Boys!”** _I say through my teeth._

_“This is ridiculous!” Velanna dismisses us as Anders laughs to himself. The ground swallows her in another crack that makes Plum snort beneath me._

_“Looks like you two have something in common after all,” Nathaniel teases me._

_I growl, locking my eyes ahead. “You’re all fucking fired.” Nathaniel and Anders giggle at me._

_“I do not believe you can fire this body. Does death not exempt it from discharge?” Justice asks. With a scrunch of his eyes, Anders’ laughter explodes around us. Nathaniel catches Anders’ amusement and holds his face for only a moment before adding his voice to the boyish mirth._

_Maker keep me sane! That bakery sounds much better right now._ **“Fine!”** _I sigh. “Velanna, if we go back for your sister, will you teach Anders that creepy snapping root thing?”_

_“Truly? You won’t go back on your word and make me teach him first, then abandon me?”_

_“We haven’t been able to abandon you_ **yet** _and_ **believe** _me, we tried,” I inform her._

 _“And to think when I was about to ask if you were feeling well,” Nathaniel pecks me. He’s still recovering from Justice’s_ **discharge** _comment._

_“Don’t make me fire you again,” I retort, shaking my head. “Andraste, save me a fucking bottle please.” The idea of a drunk Andraste makes Anders giggle harder._

_“Well…” Velanna begins again. “Yes. If you go back to the Wood, and if you let me join you and help me find my sister, then_ **yes.** _I suppose that would be worth trading… Dalish secrets for…” she agrees._

_“Yeah?” Anders looks from me to her. He did not seem to expect an agreement._

_“Yes._ **If** _you keep your_ **word,”** _she nods once._

 _I sigh again._ **Two** _mages cracking up from all over the Keep grounds like gophers? I already regret this. “Yes, yes, fine.”_

 _“Aw,” Anders grins at me. “You’re letting me become_ **more** _dangerous? May I just say you’re all right?” He laughs at the flat stare I give._ **“Best** _boss I’ve ever had._ **And** _most lovely.”_

_“Anders, stop trying to philander with my cousin,” Nathaniel says._

_“What?” I laugh with Anders._

_“Philander?_ **Now, now,** _Nathaniel. I_ **do** _believe I’ve learned a_ **lot more** _about you!” Anders leans over to peer around me. “It was just a_ **small** _flirt. If you’re so jealous, Nate, you should try it,” he smirks._

 _Nathaniel grimaces at me. “Tesslyn, it seems you and I are the only cousins in Ferelden who don’t_ **philander.”** _Trying to hold in my laugh causes a snort. Nathaniel huffs a laugh and looks away with twinkling eyes. “Anders, I’d sooner flirt with Oghren.”_

_“Just try it.” Oghren glares. "Puddin' buns."_

_Anders laughs so loud he rocks back. “I would_ **pay** _to see why you think that Oghren! Oh Maker!" He wipes an eye. "I’ll hire a minstrel! Then you can_ **dance** _together!_ **Hey!** _That’s not a bad idea!” He grins at me almost hopeful. “A bakery_ **and** _a Libertine Theatre. Starring Oghren the Stout and Philanderer Nathaniel!” His eyes crinkle at his own joke._

_“Take this, please.” Nathaniel unhooks his bow and holds it out to me. He’s trying hard not to smile. “Aim here.” He taps the base of his head._

_I lose it. I fucking lose it and can’t stop laughing for the life of me. My side hurts! My fucking cousin! Grabbing my ribs leans me too far, and Anders giggles so hard trying to catch me he almost falls off himself. Nathaniel yanks me back upright, laughing at us. Our horses snort and squeal, annoyed our silliness keeps knocking them together._

_Damn these adorable boys of mine. It doesn’t matter how awful or annoying the rest of the world is. When my husband left me at the Keep, I did not think I would trust anyone again. But Anders and Nathaniel fell on me before I knew I needed more friends._ **Better** _friends. I can always count on my boys._

_I guess this is what happens when you find people who need someone as bad as you do._

 

 

 

_"Why don’t you like me?”_

_I look up and around before I locate Velanna amongst the noise of the Keep. Then I can only stare at her._

_Is she serious?_

_“You tried to_ **kill** _us._ **Brutally,** _I might add.”_

_“I told you, those traps were meant for the other humans.”_

_“Humans who never did anything to you.” I nod. “I remember. But you_ **didn’t stop** _at the other humans. You_ **included** _us in your rampage. You summoned demons into trees and expected them to ignore Grey Wardens as if demons_ **care** _for anything other than escaping the Fade._ _You set sylvans and wolves upon us when Nathaniel and Anders needed help walking. You_ ** _intentionally attacked_** _us when you knew half of us were down._ **Let** _me ask_ **you** _something.” I face her. “Why don’t_ **you** _like_ **me? You** _tried to kill_ **us. We** _tried to_ ** _ignore_** _you. I don’t know what else to tell you when you refuse to believe me. Just like you refused to believe I’m the Queen.”_

_Velanna hesitates with a frown of conflict. She wanders her eyes to avoid mine._

_I sigh. “Go to bed. We leave in the morning.”_

_“If you don’t like me this much, why bother letting me join?” She follows me._

_I roll my eyes. “I do a_ **lot** _of stupid things in spite.”_

_Velanna stops walking. “I see.”_

_“Go to bed,” I tell her._

_“When I find my sister, am I free to leave, then? Since you don’t wish me to stay?” she calls after me._

_I turn around and walk backwards. “No.” I shake my head. “If you wish to know, I expect to send you away. I don’t believe there are many Wardens in Rivain or Par Vollen.”_

_“What? Why that far? What’s the point of saving my sister if I can’t see her again?”_

_“There is no turning back, Velanna. That was not a lie. Once you join the Wardens, you can never go back to your old life. Grey Wardens can’t live normal lives.”_

_“But you’re a queen! If you can, why can’t others?”_

_“I was not a queen when I was dragged away and forced to join. I was a young noble girl who decided to settle and marry into a_ **quiet** _life. I cannot go back to my old life no matter_ **how** _I wish._ **Nathaniel** _cannot go back. If Anders went back, he’d now be pampered as a guest, when_ **not** _a Warden they locked him up. He would wake knowing they had the choice before to be kinder but refused, all over a simple title.” I shake my head again. “We can’t go back to our old lives. You will never see your clan again. The lives we left do not exist anymore. I can’t even be_ **Queen** _without Warden life interfering, which is frustrating because I have an_ **entire country** _to govern.” I pause, trying to read her face. She’s struggling to understand the gravity, that much is clear. “As much as I wanted the Joining to kill you, Velanna, the_ **choice** _was_ **yours.** **You wanted** _this._ **Remember** _that when you have to say goodbye to your sister._ **There is no turning back.** _Learn that as soon as you can.”_

 

 

 

 _It’s not as fun with Velanna here. Anders, Oghren, and Nathaniel still peck at each other. Justice still twists sarcasm into his curious griping on lack of structure; though my morning and evening routines inspire Anders and Nathaniel to join my_ **structure.** _My three tricksters peck at Velanna, Nathaniel particularly cunning with his solemn face and insinuating questions. But Velanna does not understand human humor or try. She finds Oghren repulsive. Anders is a bug to her. Nathaniel infuriates her; I’m quite proud of my sly cousin. Velanna interrupts good times to insist we are pointless, immature, and careless, and there is no way to shut her up. She doesn’t comprehend if our conversations irritate her, she is free to ignore us and not interject. Trying to journey on foot with her only drags time._

_If her clan hadn’t abandoned her, I’d insist they take her back. But her clan could be anywhere by now. And my time with Zathrian’s clan during the Blight taught me Dalish do not reclaim in stride one who abandoned their ways._

_The only good aspect, though, is she has kept her word. She teaches Anders what she knows about trees. She shows how to talk to them, how to connect with the subconsciousness of nature that grows all plants. She teaches him how to read the health and happiness of a tree by its bark and roots; quite different from common herbology. Shows us by nurturing a tree, it may gravitate towards its caretaker without even trying; like when leaves grow facing the sun. Velanna says when her clan camped long enough in certain areas, saplings attuned themselves to her and the Keeper, spreading roots in her direction. There were times when her clan moved on only to pass by the same area later, and Velanna found certain young trees out ahead of the forest - roots and branches reaching like they tried to stop her from leaving. Or tried to follow. They grew too big to move and were left behind. Then the waiting trees bloomed out of season when they felt her clan return. “Like grateful children,” Velanna says. Her eyes illuminate her face with admiration as she cups an oak sprout. A love she does not extend to people. Only trees._

_Even I admit fascination When it is my turn to stand guard with Justice overnight, I find my ear to a tree. I try to listen to its aura, try to feel the life inside it. While the others sleep, Justice asks me if I hear anything, asks if it sings like lyrium sings for him in this world. I don’t feel or hear anything. Not in trees, anyway, and there is so much lyrium in me I perceive it as Justice does. Lyrium may even prevent me from hearing the aura. Anders is better at learning the trees than I am._

_It’s beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Velanna called it ancient Dalish secrets. But it seems to me more a family gathering, of sorts. She doesn’t know how ancient it is, only it is. I watch her and Anders and feel I’m glimpsing into a lost Arlathan way of life. I wonder how the ancient Tevinter Magisters could have looked upon something so pure and thought it needed eradicating._

_I think of my husband. Dalish mysticism Alistair would love to hear. He looked up on the clan we found like a child in a toy shop. Velanna teaching about trees like this is the sort of fairytale Alistair longs to live._

_And could have, had he not abandoned me._

 

 

 

_“There are no more raging sylvans,” Anders says as we step into the Wending Wood again. “Right?”_

_“And here I worried you’d lost your sense of humor,” Velanna retorts. Patience unlimited when she taught about trees, but when she returned to the realm of humans? We are inferior to elves again. Or she has learned to peck back._

_“No.” I shake my head. “There won’t be any more sylvans, Velanna. Understood?” I love her connection to the trees. I hate her habit of enthralling them to deter humans._

_“There are no more sylvans here!” she cries in defense. “At least… I don’t think so. It’s…_ **possible** _some lay dormant and in the confusion, I… forgot about them…”_

_“So endures the trend of you failing to surprise me,” Nathaniel says. “My lady,” he adds._

_“Stop calling me that!” she flusters. The corners of Nathaniel’s mouth turn up. The way those words rile her amuses him to no end. He usually keeps a straight face when he teases her. This is the first time he let his amusement show._

_Oghren groans. “I forget how lame humans are when you flirt.”_

_“Oh, that wasn’t flirting,” Anders pipes. “He doesn’t_ **philander.** _Not_ **our** _little Nate.”_

_“I am one step from pinning you both to the ground.” Nathaniel shakes his head._

_I snort like a horse; my boys snicker at me. “Trying to pin Oghren won’t work. He’d either keep running, or it would heat him up.” Oghren glances at me with a knowing chuckle._

_“Do I want to know?” Anders grimaces already._

_“You may not want to,” I shake my head. “But speaking of heat, you may enjoy a trip to Orzammar. They have a really fun shop there. Lots of shiny, glittery things in natural shapes that go very intimate places. Isn’t that right, Oghren?”_

_“Unless you get those edible ones,” Oghren nods._

_“Ooh!” I look at him with wide eyes. “I forgot about those! I still haven’t tried them!”_

_“You know, they have an edible rope in there.”_

_My brows jump. “Do they really? What’s it taste like?”_

_“Depends.” Oghren shrugs. “They come in six different colors and flavors. I was always partial to the purple one.” I meet his eyes. I haven’t thought about Hot Lava in a long time. I don’t remember anything like edible rope there. It seems I need to schedule a return visit._

_Anders laughs like he’s unsure he heard right. Nathaniel groans, “Cousin, I do not need to know this much about you.”_

_“Are you serious?” Anders grins to me and Oghren._ **“Orzammar** _has a_ **sex** _shop?_ _What are we doing up_ **here** _then?”_

_“Trying not to picture my cousin nibbling at purple bonds on her wrists.” Nathaniel winces. He hesitates. Then sighs. “Nevermind.” I giggle and lean into him, but he looks away trying not to smile._

_“Nathaniel, I believe your cheeks are rosy.” It’s not so easy to compose myself right now._

_“We’ll be sure to get Nate a_ **special lamp,”** _Oghren smirks. I snort, imagining Nathaniel’s card-face while he marches at night with a large glowing phallus._

_“Or one of those glass bead doors,” I giggle again. Oghren barks so hard he braces his knees to keep from falling. He’s picturing the phallic bead door. My own laugh sounds like a hyena._

_Velanna sighs. “I may regret this… but I am curious. What in oblivion are you two yapping about?”_

_“I don’t think you want to know. I wish I didn’t,” Nathaniel says._

_“I’m sure your comments are relevant to an unnecessary task somehow-” Justice begins._

_“Ouch!” Anders grins. “Way to lay it thick Justice.”_

_“- but we have already walked this forest,” Justice says. His words inspire me stop walking and look around. We are still on the path towards the mine and the tower ruins. “Witch! Where is the entrance to the darkspawn caves?”_

_Velanna sighs and rolls her eyes. “Stop calling me that.”_

_“Justice, you should call her_ **Milady** _instead,” Nathaniel holds his face. Another giggle bubbles up out of me._

_“I will not. I am only interested in the entrance to the darkspawn lair,” Justice says._

_Velanna sighs again. “In the mines. They came up from the mines. Did no one listen to me?”_

_“You mean last time we were here?” Anders clarifies._

_I make a noise in my cheek and wince. “I don’t remember much over the sound of angry trees, last time,” I add._

_“Oh, enough!” Velanna says through her teeth. “Must you all be so infuriating?”_

_“The answer should be obvious in their fleeting transition from nonsense to the task at hand. Do not waste your breath, witch,” Justice advises._

_“Stop calling me that!” she hisses. Nathaniel stifling a giggle makes me giggle._

_“Don’t be so sure, Justice,” Anders giggles also. “We’re much better at nonsense.”_

_“Yep!” Oghren belches; Velanna grimaces. “With nonsense, we’re like a good wine.”_

_Anders grins again. “We only get better with age!” he adds. “Oghren, that was uncharacteristically poetic of you!”_

_“If you tell anyone, I’ll sodding skin you alive.” He belches again._

_“Eew,” Anders giggles._

_I grin at them. “Both of you,_ **never** _change.”_

_Justice could not bring back to the task at hand, but stepping into the mine did. It does not seem like a mine. A tunnel lies ahead, a lower section and an upper. I have never seen a mine look so… not like a mine before. Ancient Tevinter architecture remains in here almost untouched. I suspect Vints, ancient or modern, are the only ones whose mines are so… pretty. The same spirals that decorate any other ancient Tevinter ruins are here. This place looks more like a basement, like the one under Nathaniel’s home._

_And like Nathaniel’s basement, if darkspawn came from here, this is no mere mine._

_As if reading my mind, Nathaniel leans closer and wonders aloud, “How big can a mine be?” He sounds impressed and concerned._

_“Please don’t give the mine any ideas.” I almost sound in awe._

_“This_ **is** _just_ _a_ **mine** _… right?” Anders asks. We are all looking around, all looking for the same answer._

_"Velanna, did you come in here?”_

_“No. I had no reason to.” She shakes her head, though looks as wary as us._

_“What is this?” Nathaniel gestures as we descend the last steps. On the floor beneath a transfer balcony lay engraved a set of rings atop circles within circles._

_“Yuck. Here.” From the corner of my eye, Oghren holds out a dirty scrap of paper._

_But the swarm returns before I look at Oghren. Strong - stronger than any darkspawn I’ve met. Except maybe the broodmother? I don't think it feels like an Archdemon. I look over; Anders is right here, staring back with equal caution._

_“Take heed. Something approaches!” Justice keeps his voice low, drawing his weapon and shield without noise._

_“Cousin?” Nathaniel looks around, trying to find the source with his eyes. It only get stronger._

_It’s in my veins like a sudden migration of fish in the Hafter river. A firm, determined force. If it_ **is** _a broodmother, how can it move? The only one I saw was immobile. Yet the curious swarm continues filling my body with liquid heat._

_“Darkspawn!” Nathaniel looses an arrow as I look where he stares._

_The darkspawn deflects the arrow with a wave of his hand and brief shimmering barrier._

**Not just a darkspawn.** _Unlike any darkspawn I have ever seen._

_Tall, even from here. Strange armor of vague familiarity has merged with the body under rib-like ornaments. Smooth gray skin, bits of cloth, piercings. Even the tall intricate hat is one with the head. I can’t place the symbol on its hat. It looks like a person in a costume._

_“So you have come after all,” it speaks like a human. A gentle tone. Common tongue, fluid speech. “Commander of the Grey.” My eyes widen with breath that gave no notice of leave._

**I know what this is.**

_“You’re -- Arch… the Archi… tect…” It has to be. Alistair told me everything Duncan remembered of the intelligent darkspawn._

_I did not think it was real. Not like this. I pictured a hurlock, or a genlock mage. Not a… person._

_“Shh…” The Architect’s hand alights with a strange glittering hue. I can’t watch his hand complete a loop before my head feels heavy. “Shh. Rest now.” It feels like iron is growing in the back of my head. I can... can’t keep… “Do not be frightened. Sleep.”_

_Wha… Sleep? Yes… just n… so tired… I just n…need sl…_

 

 

_Light. Bleak light. My head feels like stone. Feel like… only slept a wink. Too tired. I’m too tired to move. I don’t want to wake up yet. Sleep. Just let me…sleep._

_Was I drinking?_

_No. Drink. I need a... need a drink._

_It’s all blurry. My mouth feels like cloth. Ugh. I drank Oghren’s gin again. Must have…_

_What is that? Bronze thing… not my… not my table. Whose room am I in? Is that… cage?_

_Zevran’s room. Good job… me. You drank yourself… into Zevran’s room._

_“So you are the one who killed Urthemiel.” A gentle voice. Tender. A body comes into view._

_It’s still hazy. My eyes hurt trying to focus. What is… what are those clothes? No, not clothes. Armor? Hard leather? Buckles. Dark leather ribs becomes golden ribs and wrap around armor. Gold bands on arm--_

_… On gray arms. Gold bands wrap up gray arms._

_I don’t think this is Zevran’s room…_

_Follow gray arms up… veins and arteries extend like human arms… past gold ribs… human lips. Human nose. Human ea…_ **one** _human ear. I can’t see the other ear. The side of the tall hat has been… looks like an external skeleton. The face seems to think it is; it clings to it. An eyeless mask grew into the skin and hat. It’s like… the mask became… the eyes…_

_The Architect. That wasn’t a dream?_

_So I’m not--_

_Smooth fingers hold my eye open before a beam of light shines in._

_Ow!_ **Shit!** _Did he have to blind me? He does the same to my other eye before I can move my head away._

_“You are recovering well.” Sup… surprisingly calm voice for… blighted man. Speaks different than the hurlocks. Talks normal. “Shh, do not try to speak. Be still. You are safe.”_

_A ball of waning light stays with my eyes still. Maker, this… did he have to do that? I can’t even..._

_“Be still, Commander. An accident would be unfortunate. You are in good care here.” He speaks like an old tutor. Reminds me of Ch… Chantry elders._

_I wet my lips. It takes a few tries. Another comes into view. Bald. Smooth gray skin has spots… dark outlines of spots… Short. Much shorter than this Architect. But not a genlock._

_Another new darkspawn?_

_The other person doesn't speak. Only tugs. Tugs on the Architect’s arm. The Architect looks down and takes something. “Thank you, Utha. Would you ensure our other guests are well? Perhaps they have woken up also.” Faint tapping. Something pinches part of my arm, followed by a sharp prick._

_OW!! I can’t even scream. This bastard! I_ **hate** _Architects._

_“I apologize, Commander. I do not wish to cause you pain. I prefer to be your ally, not enemy.” He dabs my pricked arm with cloth. “Shh, Commander. Time for questions may come later. For now, you must rest. Sleep will aid your healing.”_

_Heal? Heal from what? Why am I safe here? Why do I need to heal?_

_My head feels hea--_

 

 

 _“Cousin! Cousin!_ **Dammit,** _Tesslyn, wake up!” A cold hand pats my face again and again. My head moves with the hand._

_“If you keep hitting her, she’ll bruise.”_

_“I’m not hitting her. I’m waking her face. We need her eyes open!_ **Cousin!”**

_Noise rumbles through my throat. Hard and cold is under me. Shapes blend into view through my eyelashes._

**“That’s** _it!” Nathaniel sighs in relief. “_ **Come** _on, cousin,_ **look** _at me.” Him. It’s his hand. Pats my face again. I try to look up. Brighter here. Cold and bright. Nathaniel’s face sharpens before me. His hair hangs down, his eyes search. He turns my head to brighter light then back. “Dilating. Good. That’s good. Cousin! Can you hear me?” He pats my other cheek._

_I can’t speak yet. My mouth is dry again. Nathaniel braces me and the room rushes around me. I can’t open my eyes again. Too dizzy. Maker… what… what happened? Where’s…_

_“Cousin, no no. Look at me. Stay awake, Tesslyn! We can’t stay here. I need you awake.”_

_It’s still spinning. Nathaniel comes back into view in spirals of color. I think my_ **eyes** _are spinning. Nathaniel holds my head still. I feel my eyes rock while I try to look at him. Long lines fade from blurs behind him. A wall to my left. More lines to my… bars? Bars behind Nathaniel run past my other arm. Gate bars?_

_“Sod it to shreds. What the did that thing do to her?” Oghren._

_“Seranni!” A high voice. A woman’s voice. Scared, surprised woman._

_We have a woman?_

_My head is still heavy. It lobs on my neck when I turn. A thing at the bars… a woman. The woman. With really long ears._

_Elf. Right. I_ **do** _have a woman. An annoying one with scary vines._

_“Seranni! What are you doing here? What happened to you?” Velanna clings to the bars like a..._

_Bars? I see my eyebrows as I look around more. Are we in a… a fucking prison? No no no! I don’t do prisons! Nathaniel tries to stop me from standing. He catches me._

_“I’m fine.” Another woman. I know I don’t have two of those. “Really,” she insists. “I wish I could explain.” This one’s voice is husky, like it scraps through rocks, or like she screamed all day._

_“You wish you could explain?! What’s that supposed to mean? Seranni!”_

_“You won’t understand. I’m not the one he wants.”_

_The one he wants? Why does that sound familiar?_

_I look up to see eyes on me. Another elf. Not Velanna but like her. Scabbed in dark patches. Hair missing in chunks._

_She’s Tainted. She’s a… a ghoul. Who talks like a normal person._

_I remember the First with a gasp. That talking hurlock in Blackmarsh who sent us to the Fade. It said I am the one a_ **He** _wants. I am important to_ **Him** _because I killed the Archdemon._

_He. The Architect._

_What the fuck for?_

_“Ow!” Cold stone meets me with a hard thud as I trip on my clothes._

_My clothes?! My armor! Where is my armor?!_

_Nathaniel almost can’t help me up fast enough. The bars hit my chin when I grab on. Fuck my depth perception right now! What did that Architect do to me??_

_“Why?” My mouth is so dry the words hurt my throat. “Why? What does he want?” I ask the ghoul. “Why are you… so normal?” She should be halfway to Broodmother right now._

_“Normal?! Are you blind? She’s ill!”_

_“No, Velanna, she’s right. I’m fine, you need to trust me.” The ghoul elf looks at me again._

_“You should…” I wet my mouth again and close my eyes to overcome dizziness. I stood up too fast. “Women who… you should be halfway to…”_

_“I know. But I’m not. I can’t explain it. Not now.”_

_“Why not? What did he do to me?” I stare at her._

_“Nevermind that!” Nathaniel joins us at the bars. “We need to leave! Can you help us escape?”_

_“And where the sod are our weapons?” Oghren growls._

_“It is no use.” Justice. I look back to see my possessed Warden shake his head and wave a hand. “They have denied me since I awoke. They mean to keep us prisoners, no doubt for their unrighteous labors.”_

_“Why have you come if you don’t intend to help us?” Nathaniel interrogates._

_“Seranni, you’re sick! I need to get you home! The Keeper can help you!” Velanna beside me is so frightened she can’t keep it from her face._

_“No, I’m not leaving. But…_ **you should.”** _The ghoul fumbles with the lock on our prison cage. “They patrol here every few minutes. You need to hurry!” She urges in a whisper._

_“No!” I hiss at her. “Tell me what he wants! Please! What does he want with me? I can’t bring the Archdemon back! Is that why he’s doing this?”_

_She hesitates. Not ghoul enough to not show expression. Remorse, conflict. “No. It’s not what you think. Here. This... may help.” She digs into a pocket and shoves another key at me._

_“What is this to?” I glance down at the tarnished silverite key. A section of the middle is worn clean, shiny, almost new. Someone uses this key often. Fingers polished this spot. A key used every day? A private key?_

_“Seranni! No! Come back!” Velanna cries. I look back up to see the ghoul elf hurrying away backwards._

_“No, I need to stay. But_ **you** _need to_ **go!** _Velanna,_ **now!** _They’re coming!_ **Go!”** _she repeats before disappearing through a double door._

_The way the ghoul ran holds darkspawn. I hear them, but they’re not close enough yet. We have no weapons, no armor. Clutching the key tight enough makes me light-headed again. Nathaniel drags me the opposite way before I can do anything stupid. Like run head-on into darkspawn unarmed when I can’t hold myself up._

_“I… don’t think this is the right way…” Anders stares with large eyes even as I crash into him. Justice and Oghren hold doors behind us closed. I look around with stolen breath, climbing steps ahead of the others. I share a glance with Nathaniel._

_I_ **know** _this place._

_Not the place, the things. The setting. The jars, the displays, the tools…_

_“What is this place?” Velanna whispers._

_“He’s a scientist...” I look around. Civilized Tevinter uses many of the same tools. The laboratories I saw held similar specimens in jars. “He’s Tevinter. A Tevinter scientist. This is a laboratory.”_

_“A mage scientist?” Velanna asks. “Doesn’t that contradict itself?”_

_I shake my head and pick up an open book. A loose page slides out, covered in scribbles. “Science is only the explanation of the process,” I tell her. “Tevinter mages are intent to learn how everything happens. What causes the magic. How best to use it to maximize results.”_

_The note is disturbing. Common tongue. It talks about the elf. The other elf, the ghoul who let us out, not Velanna. It’s the_ **Architect’s** _note. Seranni bonded with her guards, lets the Architect_ **work** _on her. The Architect kept secret his darkspawn killed the Dalish clan. He thinks Seranni won’t cooperate if she knows he ordered her clan attacked._

_I look at the key in my hand, then back at the note. I think Seranni knew. She wants out of here. If she really believed the Architect was kind and just, would she have taken a key used every day?_

_The Architect’s key? Velanna’s sister stole from the Architect to help us escape?_

_What the fuck is going on here?_

_I stare at Velanna. I don’t know what to think. This elf spent how long hunting humans when her sister was down here; are we even still in the mines? And her sister sneaks into the Architect’s personal effects? I think Seranni has known all along what the darkspawn did to their clan. I think Seranni stayed behind to keep Velanna from becoming a ghoul like her._

_But here we are anyway. No wonder Seranni wants us out._

_Nathaniel beyond Velanna nods his head at me in question. I don’t speak as I hand Velanna the note. And I move on before I see the look on her face. I know how_ **I** _would feel if I found this about my family. I already know how it feels to watch my family die._

_A scant cry of disbelief escapes. Velanna doesn’t seem so foreign now._

_More notes. More journals. More tools. Nathaniel and Anders join me as I look. So far nothing tells me why we’re here. Why the Architect shone light in my eyes or pricked my arm. Why he took our armor off and re-dressed us._

_“Going on a long shot, but if we manage to get out of here,” Anders says, “as in, if we somehow kill everything and clear the mine…” He looks at me, holding up a book. “We need to take these on our way out. The Circle needs to know about these experiments. If you hadn’t stopped the Blight…” He doesn’t need to finish. He suspects we all would have become test subjects like in the journals if the Blight never ended._

_“What do you suppose he did to us?” Nathaniel hovers his finger over an open leather case. I step over and peer: various medical blades lay strapped inside. Scalpels. Syringes; must have been what the asshole used on my arm. Small tubes. Hooks. Scissors. Other more complex tools I’d not recognize if not for my time in Tevinter: tile cautery, cupping vessels, skull drills, various speculum. A bone saw off to the side._

_… Not just_ **any** _scientist. The Architect is a surgeon. And speculum… some are used in fertility; to inseminate by tool when natural conception fails._

_This Architect knows how to fix broken female parts…_

_He can fix_ **me.**

 _The room on a sudden falls silent. From the corner of my eye, I see Nathaniel’s mouth move, but I hear no sound now. I touch a scalpel, and a vaginal specula. Speculum will do no good on me, but…_ **he knows.** _The_ **Architect** _knows how to_ **use** _these._ **He** _can_ **fix** _me. He can_ **fix** _my_ **womb.**

_“I need to find him.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	16. A Promise to Myself, Me and No One Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens fight their way through Silverite Mine, Velanna for one reason, Tess for another. Neither could anticipate their findings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [I Am the Fire, by Halestorm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hkmuTvkp_s)

_Nathaniel holds out a dagger and a mace, looking at me like I’m mad._

**“Why** _do you want to find this lunatic?” he asks._

_“Where did you find those?” I ask instead, pointing to the weapons._

_“They were in a crate by the books._ **I** _don’t want to find this this Architect.” He shakes his head. “Why do_ **you** _want to?”_

 _I can’t expect him to understand. Nathaniel doesn’t have to live with a curdled womb like I do. But the Architect can fix me. The tools in this laboratory_ **_prove_ ** _he can. “I just do-”_

_“Ah-ha!” Anders cries out triumph. “I got it! I got it! It’s clearing!” He points down: the room below is clearing away the green fog that smells of sulphur, fell poison, and pitch. “There’s a chest down there. It’s a start. Do we have any rogues present? Or have both of you quit already today?”_

_“Why so happy?” Nathaniel asks._

_“We’ve got weapons now. If we have a fighting chance, I’ll take it. I_ **want** _these_ **books.”**

_I look at my cousin. “Reason enough to find the Architect?” I ask._

_“For books?” Nathaniel grimaces. He follows me down. “Wait, cousin, take a weapon!”_

_“Give it to Oghren!” I say. I plan to find this Architect no matter what. I refuse to let a meager handful of spawn get in my way. The Architect is my only bet. I can’t let him slip away._

_“Tesslyn!” Nathaniel’s voice falls flat._

_“I don’t need a weapon, Nathaniel, I am one!” I may even get to test the Archdemon’s magic again._

_Fists will do for now. Hurlocks and genlocks spill in through the double doors._

_But not with a fucking dress on; another thing to talk to the Architect about. Nathaniel scolds me in battle when I borrow his dagger to rip the stupid skirt off._

_Combat is a curious thing._ **Fighting** _is a curious thing. In Orlais, I killed my way to Celene’s hand. In Tevinter, I found my way up on accident. Weaseled my way through two different houses before I found the right one, then, convinced I was a spy, Gereon tried to poison me with lyrium-filled chocolates. I survived; the only survivor of Tevinter lyrium-poisoning. I never told him I wanted his research on time-travel magic. I never made it close to his notes. He trained me as a conduit instead. I spent weeks falling asleep in tears only to suffer half my lessons crying. I already knew how to fight; he trained me with fear: others’, not mine. Trained me like a war dog. As soon as I smelled fear, I charged. I later learned it was adrenaline. As soon as Fight or Flight instincts begin, the body releases an odor I can only consciously smell when I have fresh lyrium in me._

_Except now I no longer need fresh lyrium, and darkspawn release it too. Not just people._

_My vision clouds all but the smell. I smell, I attack. I don’t have a choice. It’s a reflex that asshole Magister imprinted in my mind._

_It’s how the Archdemon turned me against Alistair underground._

_Nathaniel yells for me. An arrow flies by; he found a bow. Velanna repels in disgust as I shake spawn brains off my fist. It doesn’t even stink right now. I can only smell the_ _fear of eminent death caked on my hand._ _It’s survival. And I watch from the back of my mind as Tess whirls off as torrent of pain. Battle Tess does not turn off till the adrenaline fades, or till something stronger strikes fear in me._

_My cousin still insists I use a dagger._

_Anders starts to the corridor only to stumble back with a curse. He slams the doors shut and holds his weight. “The mages! Those blasted mage darkspawn are back!” he grunts when the door thumps._

_Blight magic? I can use this. This will hurt like a forsaken bitch bite, but I can use this. Maybe take the rest out at once._

_“Move.” I march over and yank the door._

_“Are you insane?” he cries out._

_“MOVE, Anders!_ **Dagger!** **Now!** _Nathaniel, Velanna, keep them off me! I’ll take the mage.”_

_“Oh, great, yes. I’ll stay behind and catch fire again!” Anders says. He holds out the dagger as I open the door. The dagger is in my hand and in a skull before the doors finish opening._

_I look at the mage. The genlock chuckles low and guttural, hands summoning dark purple and green mist. Blight magic._

_Hello, beautiful._

_Breath. Mind. Create my own circle, push them aside._ **I** _am the moment, not them. Spread my wings. Lift, part, kick, strike. Whip._ **Be.** _Awaken the energy, stir the embers within. The Qi, the magic; my lyrium’s life. Feel it, will it, move it around. Gereon honed my agility to kill. What could have been meditation in motion became a dance of death. Back then, it did not fruit unless I absorbed lyrium and magic first._

_But that was before the Archdemon and the Deep Roads. I need not do either now._

_Deflect. The genlock’s eyes grow wide as its own magic flies back threefold. A flicker of dark violet jumps between darkspawn and drops them with a thud._ **Crush.** _Tainted corpses sizzle and twitch in unnatural angles._

_Urthemiel, I owe you one._

_But now my limbs tremble. Cold stone rushes to meet me with pain though my chin. “Ow!” Even my voice is weak._

_I forgot this happens. Templar practice is so different. It made me shudder as this_ **mana** _inside me expended, nothing more. It’s been so long since I killed the Archdemon. So long since I spent that day redirecting his magic. I forgot how weak it made me._

_Nevermind, Urthemiel. You fucking infant bastard, wherever you are._

_Nathaniel helps me to my feet. “Anders, she needs healing.”_

_“No.” I shake my head. Holding on to the wall does little good. Nathaniel has to catch me. “Lyrium. The... that thing,” I try to point to the genlock mage._

_“Let’s hope this Architect stocks it like oat cakes.” Anders fumbles around the dead genlock until he finds a belt. Yanking it clanks whatever is inside. “I can’t tell if you’re lucky or doomed,” he tells me, pulling out two vials of lyrium._

_“Doomed.” I grab the darker bottle. “Definitely doomed.”_

_The farther we run this maze, the more I hate it and question the Architect’s sincerity. He sounded sympathetic, but in this mine beneath Tevinter ruins, experiments from his journals run about. Elves and humans so Tainted they have become ghouls, living here with darkspawn as if they ought to. Or as if the Architect means to show us Darkspawn can tolerate people._

_It is sickening._

_Some wear our armor and use our weapons; except mine, I cannot find mine anywhere. Velanna thinks she recognizes some of the elves. The farther we go, the more her eyes drip. The more her eyes drip, the harder she fights. Roots and vines break up through stone that stood through centuries of war and labor. She is quick, efficient, and does not give the spawn time to react. Frightening._

_Velanna is a good Grey Warden._

_There is another Grey Warden here. Alive. Fereldan. He lay forgotten in a depleted recess in puddles of dried blood. His legs were crushed. Splinters, shattered armor, mush. I recall the death of the dwarven King’s friend where the Anvil of the Void once lay. Velren lost both legs the same way this Warden did. I saw what almost losing a leg did to Alistair. I can’t imagine losing both. Worse, a hurlock did it. Stole the Warden’s wedding ring and smashed his legs. An act of raw violence with the intent to harm._

_Another Warden I did not save._

_This man clung to life in hope of a rescue, but not for him. He wants his wedding ring rescued. Then, he held the dagger in my hand to his neck and begged me for mercy._

_But mercy does not bleed the neck. I shake my head and move my dagger. A sob of helplessness rips from his throat. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I hold his head and press my lips; his tears break at my chin. His body stiffens under my dagger. A twist of the blade cracks bone and dislodges his skull._

_How many times have I had to kill people to save them?_

_I bet Mhairi knew his name._

_Nathaniel holds my eyes when I stand. I don’t need to ask, nor explain. My cousin already feels it. Mercy can be cruel to those who deliver her. His eyes apologize to me for myself._

_I am at an impasse within. The Grey Warden, the test subjects, the_ **gracious acceptance** _of people by darkspawn. The secrets and experiments upon people with families still awaiting their return. The Architect needs to die._

_But I also need him alive. I need his help. I am about to betray my country and my Order so this monster will fix me._

_Little different from allowing my former-sister to make an Archdemon baby with my husband’s seed. Right?_

_How did Alistair put it? Oh, yes. I am a shining example to all women._

_The further we press, the harder it becomes. The spawn converge like we interrupted a street festival. The others carry all the weapons they can, but it is not enough. I’m forced to order my mages to attack me. They protest. Velanna and Anders call me crazy, Nathaniel forbids it, Justice calls me delusional. Oghren is the only one who approves. When the darkspawn surround us with pet drakes and more ghouls, Oghren wins._

_Maker, I hate it. Velanna’s fucking thorns and fire, Anders’ lightning and ice. It is more than I expected,_ **too** _much! My heart beats so fast I hear nothing but a loud bell as the Taint tears through me. I don’t have time to balance it out and work the deflect, it_ **burns** _through my body! I can’t hear, can’t see, rushing up, pushing out, shoving like it means to break me like a bomb!_

_Breath returns like a ballista to my chest. FUCK. I remember why I dislike magic so much._

_“All right! You and I need to start_ **serious training** _when we get back,” Anders tells me. “That was dangerous!”_

_“What do you need?” Nathaniel helps me stand. “Lyrium? Or healing?”_

_“Maybe a nap. Ow!” I wince. “And something for my head.”_

_“Look for potions!” Anders orders the others. His hands light up around my head. “Next time a warning would be nice,” he says, pushing my head back to pinch my nose._

_“Fuck, am I bleeding?” my voice sounds funny._

_“Yes, you are. And while that was effective - on the extremely impressive scale, I might add - stick to daggers. I’ll frost them, or something, but no more of this living-rune stuff. Got it? Maker, you might_ **kill** _yourself exploding like that.”_

_“I’m not the Maker, Anders,” it sounds even sillier with my nose pinched._

_He lets out a laugh. “I hope not. You’d have to smite me for all the naughty jokes I tell.”_

_“You tell naughty jokes? When? When I’m asleep?” I can’t see him well with his hands lit up in my face. He chuckles._

_“We found lyrium,” Velanna says. “And Nathaniel found lyrium sand, if you’re feeling brave - or more crazy-”_

_“Raw lyrium?” I ask. I sound far too hopeful._

_“Dried and crushed,” Nathaniel calls. I duck out of Anders’ hand fingers and peer away. Nathaniel approaches with vials of sparkling blue grains._

_I smell it. It already aches my bones._

**If** _I ever see my husband again, Alistair will Smite me._

_“That. I’ll take that.” I nod, running a hand under my dripping nose. A bright red smear paints my hand._

_“Eew.” Nathaniel makes a face at me. As if there aren’t darkspawn and ghoul insides over half the floor._

_All this to find the Architect. I want to find him more than I want to find my daggers and bow, my armor._

_Darkspawn. Ghouls and undead. Dragons; where the fuck did the Architect get enough dragons to raise like hens? Anders even jokes about omelets. Bodies of Templars, of failed adventurers. The more we follow this labyrinth, the more evidence I gather to destroy this Architect. There’s a room - bed, desk, armor dummy, even a wardrobe; a room_ **lived** _in - with notes and a chest to match the tarnished key Seranni stole. The chest hold a hat Anders recognizes as only worn by a First Enchanter. Anders is as wary as me. Somewhere a Circle is missing its headmaster; how can the Architect do that? The note disturbs us most, though. Addressed to an Utha --_

_Utha, Utha… I know that word… Name? Where have I heard that?_

_\-- the letter states Utha gave blood for a ‘common cause’… The journal entries from the laboratory also mentioned blood. Something about blood being a key._

_… The prick on my arm._

_My eyes widen as I grab my arm. The Architect pinched my arm and poked me. He has needles and syringes and vials on his laboratory desks… I cut my sleeve off and search my arm. And feel it._

_A tiny scab, smaller than the head of a sewing pin. Right over a visible vein in my arm. He took my blood. The Architect_ **stole** _my_ **blood.**

_Do I really want him fixing my womb??_

_… Do I have a choice? I’ve written letters. I know Alistair wrote letters. The College of Magi in Cumberland had no solutions for a shriveled womb other than repeated surgeries to scrape the lining, which they warned was not worth the risks. When adult health relies on reproductive health, one wrong slip of the knife could paralyze me for life. Magic cannot undo non-magical paralyzation. I was willing to try. Alistair decided to look elsewhere._

_But there_ **are** _no answers elsewhere._

 _Except with this Architect._ **He** _knows how to use tools to fix broken reproductive organs. He_ **has** _to know_ **some** _way. He took my blood - the Architect_ **owes** _me a way._

 _Yet_ **more** _cause to hate this darkspawn scientist! Not paces from the room is a defect Qunari - with my things! My daggers, my bow -- things my husband made me for me -- my armor -- my wedding ring!!! The fucking Architect_ **gave** _my stuff to this fucking Tal-Vashoth to trade away!!_

_Maker, what if I’d never woken up? What if Alistair saw my weapons and ring on the market?_

_I miss my husband. I don’t want it to hurt when I think of him but it_ **_does,_** _but I_ ** _miss_** _him_ ** _anyway_** _. I miss the man I married._ _And maybe…_

_Maybe if I get my womb fixed, Alistair won’t… he’ll stop lying to me, and… whatever else… or whoever he’s… doing… Maybe he’ll stop abandoning me to sneak away._

_The Architect doesn’t seem to want us alive now. Standing on a balcony with Seranni and the other ghoul, the Architect watches, commands drakes upon us. Drakes trained to attack intruders; like mabari who breathe fire and fly -- Maker, You’ve got to be kidding me! We’re damn near out of breath when the last falls. We’re burned and scratched and bleeding and ---_

_He’s leaving?? They’re fucking_ **leaving?!**

 _“NO!” I cry out. No no no! He can’t leave! Velanna calls for her sister as the two ghouls turn a corner. The Architect follows them. “NO!! Please don’t! I_ **need** _your_ **help!!”** _I stumble over a drake wing to get closer._

_I can’t get closer. Can’t climb up. No stairs, no rubble to jump._

_The Architect turns my way again._

_“PLEASE! WAIT!” my voice echoes. Nathaniel says my name like he’s apologizing._

_The Architect raises his hands, summons… something. Bright sparkling magic, shining like a single lamp at night. I call out still. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t answer. His magic grows, expands until I can’t see him anymore. It bursts with a rumble that shakes the floor and cracks rock. I can’t balance._

_I push back to my feet to see a rock slide crumbling to stillness the way he left._

_He’s gone. Gone. Just like that._

_My last -- my last chance… No. No no no!_

**“NO!!!!”** _I scream. “PLEASE! COME BACK!!_ **PLEASE!!!!** _I_ **NEED** _YOUR_ **HELP!** _PLEASE! DON’T LEAVE! I_ **NEED** _YOU!_ **YOU** _CAN_ **HELP** _ME!!!” I hear the desperation in my voice. It echoes back to me like someone screaming for a lover._

_But he doesn’t come back._

_It’s silent. Nothing in the room except my breath._

_“Please?” it comes out a whisper._

_The Architect is gone. My only chance to fix my stupid mistake so I can have a ba… my own baby… is gone._

_The floor rushes to my knees._

_Tess, you are the_ **biggest fool.** _How fucking foolish can you_ **get?** _You gave your hopes on a_ **Darkspawn.** _He_ **never** _wanted to help you. He took your blood and Maker knows what else. The Architect does not have a heart._ **Darkspawn** _don’t have hearts. How could you let yourself get so fucking carried away?_

_I’m trying not to cry, but it happens anyway. A sob that proves I gave my hopes up on a talking Darkspawn who imprisoned us echoes through the room._

_“Cousin…” A gentle hold on my shoulders. Nathaniel sighs after a pause. He doesn’t know words to console me. “Let’s get home.” He tries to pull me up, but I can’t move. I can’t_ **be** _right now. His hands slip around my limp body. My cousin holds my shoulders like he’s more in mind to let me mourn for a while._

_A loud thud follows a scrape. And another. My eyes move. Nathaniel readies his bow again._

**A stone rolls down.** _My breath catches in my throat._

_Another stone falls, then another, each crashing to the balcony floor. My pulse speeds up. Is he coming back? My breath skips. I can only watch. After a few stones, a gaping hole reveals the Architect and the ghouls. Velanna cries out for her sister as the ghouls follow the Architect back through the clearing._

_I laugh in relief, but I’m so choked up it still sounds like a sob. I push up to my feet._ **“Please?”** _I call to him. I drop my weapons as I walk. Hold out my hands to show I’m unarmed. “Please? I need your help.”_

_“What are you doing?!” Nathaniel hisses. Oghren and Justice sound off. I wave them down._

_“Don’t! Don’t attack! I_ **need** _him!” I turn back around to see the Architect almost directly above me. Velanna still calls for her sister._

_The Architect looks down at his ghouls. They nod, approving. No weapons drawn. Silent communication. Then in a cloud of more strange magic, he descends._

_“Cousin!” Nathaniel warns._

_The Architect’s feet touch down, and in fluid motion like he’s been walking all long, he strides toward me. “You are the Commander of the Grey Wardens. Are you not?”_

_I nod, studying him for a moment. Inhumanly tall, mutated beyond anything outside the Fade. Yet his notes, his laboratory, and his gentle tone... and he_ **came back.** _He came back for_ **me.**

_Maker, please let him know how to fix me!_

_“How can I help you?”_

_A sob of relief interrupts my smile. I almost can’t believe it. This should be something from a dream. This shouldn’t be real. But this… person who can help me_ **came back** _for me._

_I spill it all. That private, horrible night when Loghain made a maleficar poison me between my legs. I say lyrium may have made it worse. I describe how it felt, how it hurts sometimes to this day. I tell him the answers from Cumberland._

_I_ **barter** _with my_ **blood;** _the ghouls beyond nod approve again. He can have what he needs if he can fix me - as long I’m still alive after. I don’t want to know what he needs it for, but he can have it._

_The Architect thinks for a moment. I realize how quiet the room is around us. My party is staring, except for Velanna who stands listening to her sister. Justice looks conflicted, caution and concern in the way he holds himself. My boys… Nathaniel and Anders feel for me. I can tell they don’t understand what it’s like to live with what I just revealed, but they react to my desperation with sympathy. Oghren understands better than most, in his own way. When I met him, he’d waited years for someone to help him find his wife in the Deep Roads; all others called his cause hopeless. I think they will stand beside my decision._

_“Repair may not be possible,” the Architect says. I stare up at him. “But it may be replaced.”_

_“Replaced?”_

_A transplant. The Architect explains: if I bring him a suitable female - alive, healthy, able to bear children, similar race - he can use her womb to replace mine. He can sew a new womb in._

_A new womb._

_“But I don’t have a--”_

_But I_ **do.** _I_ **do** _have a female. My breath stops and head turns before I can try to be discreet._

**Velanna.**

_I_ **do** _have a female. Alive, healthy. Her Taint hasn’t settled in yet._

 _And Anders said something about elves and blood… Tevinter mages keep elven slaves in part for blood transfusions. Elf genes adapt to survive, they take on human genes. Elf blood_ **becomes** _human blood._

_Does it work for wombs as well?_

_I look back up at the Architect. His head moves towards the elf sisters, then back down to me._

_“Yes. She will do.” He understands._

_Am I really considering this?? Sacrificing a Grey Warden for personal gain? Sacrificing one of_ **my** _Wardens for_ **my** _personal gain?_

_“Will it kill her?” I try to keep my voice quiet so elfin ears won’t hear._

_“It may. If healed, she may continue her service to the Grey Wardens. The question is, howev--” A tug on his arm distracts the Architect. The other ghoul; I did not hear her jump down. The ghoul looks at the elves, then points to its chest as it looks back at the Architect. “Utha offers a compromise-”_

_“Utha?” I don’t mean to interrupt. Utha is the name on the letter that spoke of giving blood for the common cause._

_“Yes, Utha. She was once a Grey Warden,” the Architect is patient with me._

_“You’re a Warden?” I echo. I can’t stop staring at it. At her. The ghoul female Warden nods at me, and I understand her tugging and silence. “You’re a Silent Sister?” I fought one at Orzammar's Proving during the Blight._

_“Yes,” the Architect answers as Utha nods. “That was many years ago. Utha has since devoted her life to helping me. Until lately, we have few allies.” He means Seranni. “She proposes a compromise.”_

_I search the long gray face above me. “Anything.”_

_“The sister is a Grey Warden, is she not?” He, too, keeps his voice low._

_“Yes. She survived the Joining not two weeks ago.”_

_“Let me keep her,” the Architect proposes in place of Utha. “I will quicken her Taint, as I have in Seranni and Utha. You will have the womb, and her healing needs will be minimal.”_

_I can’t stop staring. He will give me a new womb_ **and** _Velanna will not die. She will be with her sister again, as she wanted. A simple trade. No life wasted._

_I nod. “Yes. Yes. Please. But - I need - I need to warn the others first, or they… will attack.”_

_“Of course. I wish to remain allies, Commander. Do what you must.”_

_With a deep breath I turn. I hope my face is straight and concealing. Can they tell? Nathaniel’s brows rise like he apologizes. Anders is expectant. I must look disappointed._

_“Well?” Oghren asks. I don’t respond. I keep walking, straight to the elves._

_Velanna gives a double-glance and holds her gaze as I near. “What? What is it?” She searches me like I bring cautious news._

_I lay my hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for your service,” I announce loud and clear._

_“What?” Before anything else can happen, ropes of wispy magic surround her. At once the rest of my Wardens draw their weapons, but I cry out with my palms forth._

_“NO! Don’t hurt him! He’s_ **helping** _me!” I insist._

 **“What?!** _No no no_ **no!”** _Velanna struggles with no avail. “What did you--” the Architect’s magic muffles her._

_“What?!” Anders cries like I’m mad._

_“Cousin!” Nathaniel glares like I made a deal with the Archdemon._

_“This is a grave mistake,” Justice warns._

_The Architect motions to pull Velanna in. His magic winds around limbs to keep her passive while he collects her. Velanna cannot move. Utha calms Seranni with her silent tongue. The Architect’s tender voice hushes my newest Warden with a sleeping spell._

_“Are you sure you want to do this?” Oghren holds his battleaxe still, staring in uncertainty from the Architect to me._

_“Yes. She won’t die. I’ve--” Meeting Nathaniel’s eyes halts my words. My cousin is already disappointed in me. “It’s a trade,” it comes out a scant whisper._

_“A_ **trade?!”** _Nathaniel hisses._

_My eyes close while I breathe. “She’ll be with her sister. Like she wanted. Alive, unharmed… other than... missing her womb.”_

**“Cousin.”**

_“I’m not asking for your approval, Nathaniel._ **None** _of you. I don’t expect you to understand,” I tell them. “I just… need your support right now.”_

_Nathaniel sighs a growl._

_Anders raises his staff again as the Architect approaches. “No, Anders,_ **don’t!”** _I sound desperate still. This is my only chance! Please don’t screw it up!_

_“Please stay your weapons,” the Architect requests._

_“Name one reason we should not destroy you!” Justice threatens._

_“NO!!” I cry out._

_“I am aiding your Commander,” the Architect is ever gentle and patient. “And I do not wish to chance endangering her health after we part ways. You, mage,” he addresses Anders._

_“Why do I feel this is something I’ll regret?” Anders mutters._ **“Yes,** _yes, what?”_

_“I have been watching you. You are a physician, are you not? I would ask for your assistance while I operate. Together, we can ensure your Commander’s recovery continue where I cannot follow.”_

_Anders stares at me in question. He thinks I am being inconsiderate. Selfish. The longer he stares, though, the more empathy and his kind heart distort his face._

_“Do it, Anders,” Nathaniel orders._

_“Be a good idea." Oghren adds, “It’s clear her mind is made up.”_

_With a heavy sigh, Anders relaxes his arm and retracts his staff. His eyes move beyond to Velanna; bound and unable to resist. “All right.” He nods. “You’re right, I suppose.”_

_“Thank you, Anders.” My eyes water. He looks at me like he feels he does not have a choice. Choose to help a new friend, or choose to help a better friend who happens to be his Commander and Queen._

_I know how it looks. I know it seems, from his stance, he has no choice. I aim to make this up to him._

_“Thank you,” the Architect echoes. “Come. Let us proceed so we may be done here.”_

 

 

**Nathaniel:**

I cannot believe what’s happening right now. I can’t believe my cousin did this.

We pace the foyer, the area where the Architect first put us all to sleep. Our tents are raised. Fresh meat sizzles over a fire. But we do not have words. The Architect sealed the mine since he began his project. Until he is finished stitching new parts inside my cousin like a freak experiment, we are trapped in here.

And we agreed to it for my cousin’s sake.

I tried to stand and watch, but it felt wrong looming over my cousin’s naked body. I meet Anders every other hour or so. He updates the surgery. Says my cousin will need to take it easy afterwards. Justice complains of letting this Darkspawn live when darkspawn killed Kristoff and _he_ vowed to avenge him. Oghren tries to drink the troubling situation away.

I _still_ cannot believe it.

I can’t even fathom the idea. Tesslyn revealed more than I ever guessed about her. She held it in her whole life. I understand her motive, but I don’t see myself doing the same in her place. I don’t know if I could so easily trade a life for the ability to sire children.

Velanna’s sister visits us, along with the dwarven ghoul who does not talk. Seranni mourns Tesslyn's decision, but she rejoices in living with Velanna again.

Seranni is forlorn about her appearance. Her heartbreak stems from knowing she will watch her sister lose beauty and hope and become a ghoul. She only stayed to keep Velanna from the same fate in the first place.

A hideous notion to know my cousin allowed such a trade.

Velanna and Seranni. Their names are beautiful. I imagine Velanna's name should mean Philosopher or War Goddess, for she is both. From what I gather of Seranni's actions, she is a Protector. To me, their names are beautiful and give them great beauty. It does not matter what they look like. Seranni is not convinced my sincerity is genuine, though. She smiles as if I have taken pity, nothing more.

She is right. At least she will be when Velanna becomes a ghoul. I don’t see myself looking back on Velanna as a lovely, capable Grey Warden. I already pity her.

I hope this sacrifice brings my cousin what she wanted.

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_I stare at my reflection. I don’t know words right now. I’m… I did not think it was possible. I touch my face, my neck, look at my arms._

**My scars are gone.**

_Almost all gone. Not one of my little scars exist anymore. The huge knot on my cheek has almost vanished, same with the large burn scar on my neck. I have to search for them. I gather I only see them because I know what they looked like._

_The Architect did more than give me a new womb. He_ **healed** _me._

_I’m not broken anymore._

_The Architect speaks with me and Anders, who will oversee my recovery. I don’t even hurt right now, but the Architect credits that to magic and the potions he injected. I am not to move fast. I should ride back, not walk, and sit for an hour every so often. When I return to the Keep, I should take bed rest. He taught Anders new, strong healing potions and spells. The Architect assures me Anders will take good care of me._

_I sleep in the mine for one night; the Architect's wish to ensure I am healing. The boys have slept here longer. In the morning when I awake, the Architect is gone. My boys cannot find him or Velanna or the ghouls anywhere._

_What's done is done, now._

_Anders is glad for the books he carries out._

_In my head, I thank the Architect one last time. He more than fulfilled his end of a deal he never needed to make. He gave me a_ **chance.** _I am grateful. I may have to repay him someday. Right now, I mean to._

 

 

 _The sun shines warm upon me as I step out of the mine. Birds sing and dance through the sky, young trees play in the breeze with their leaves. The air smells fresh and sweet and full of life. It fills my lungs like a blessing from the Maker. Even the faint ache of my new womb is manageable. The Wending Wood is_ **beautiful** _today._

_Then: a bark._

_For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. I miss my dog. The mabari at Vigil’s Keep are not mine, they are not my friends. They are guards._

_Then it sounds again._

_"Is that a mabari?" Nathaniel asks. Anders guesses Ash Warriors with their mabari, says he's seen them travel through these Woods._

_I hear it again. And again, closer each time._

_I know that bark. Not any mabari._ **Mine.** _I know his bark from a thousand mabari._

 _“Po?” I ask my dog why he’s come when he’s not even here yet. He barks again, and I smile with wet eyes. I almost can’t believe it! My dog found me! He used to do this all the time, he_ **always** _knows how to find me. I can’t wait to see him again! Maker, I’ve missed him!_

_But my first step freezes me. Po was with Alistair…_

_Oh shit..._

_If Po is here, then…_

_“Tess!!” I_ **hear** _him. Alistair. He followed Po here._

 _Oh, Maker,_ **shit,** _shit_ **dammit.**

_I have to face my husband._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	17. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess faces Alistair after months of thinking he abandoned her for good. Alistair must find a new way to keep his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Hello, by Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQHsXMglC9A)  
> Camp: [Rule the World, by Take That (Stardust OST)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOoLGXFSQL4)

_“What do I need to know?”_

_I look at Nathaniel. “What?”_

_“Right now, what do I need to know?” He stares ahead at the figures running up the way. “Your husband is_ **seconds** _away. If he hits you, I will shoot him. What should I watch for? What does he do when he’s past the point of no return?” Nathaniel clenches his bow so tight his knuckles pale._

 **Will** _Alistair hit me? Maker…_

_Po reaches me first. I can’t be happy to see him. I had not imagined Alistair would hunt me down here. My hound readies to pounce on me, but Anders cries out, waving his arm for Po to shoo. Po pauses, not because of Anders, but to sniff. My war dog cocks his head with a whine of question._

_He can smell the new womb?_

_“No no no! Bad dog! Stay back!” Anders tells Po._

_“Anders, it’s fine. Po is mine.” My voice is soft. Weak from finding the unexpected. From the ginger King running up the path with his eyes on me. Alistair yells for me._

_“And if he jumps, holding his weight could rip your stitches,” Anders reminds me._ **Fuck.** _Maker, how do I explain_ **that** _to Alistair? “No no! Back! Shoo!” Anders tries to wave Po away as my mabari creeps closer to sniff my lady parts._

_Po sits on his hind legs and whines up at me; What happened? Why are you different? Whose is that?_

_Alistair’s feet thud loud and heavy. I can’t move. Don’t want to look, but I can’t move away. My feet won’t move. “Tess!! Maker’s bre--” He freezes._

_I dare to glance up. Paces ahead of me. Staring, uncertain. Alistair squints and moves his head as if he thinks the light will change something._

_My scars. My_ **lack** _of scars. Shit. For a moment, I forgot._

 _“What happened to your scars?” Alistair walks closer, frowning harder with each step. His eyes fly all over my face._ **“Tess?”** _His head tilts when he comes in reach. A touch I completely forgot steals my breath when he moves my hair and collar aside. The scar on my neck is almost faded, also. “What the fuck happened, Tess?”_

_From the corner of my eye, Oghren pulls Anders and Nathaniel away. I hear Justice acknowledge Pádraig, the elite guard, and an elf._

_Great._ **All** _of them are here? That makes things so much easier now._

 **“Tess?”** _Alistair presses. He turns my face, looks at my hands, arms._

_“It’s… complicated.”_

_I never wanted him to come. I didn’t want to see him anymore. It was easier to be away from him. To not think about him anymore._

_I don’t know how to talk right now._

_And I see myself from Nathaniel’s eyes now: I look timid and sound frightened. No wonder he thinks Alistair hits me._

_“Your_ **scars** _are_ **gone,** _and all you can say is_ **‘It’s Complicated’?”** _Alistair asks. When I don’t answer, Alistair scoffs. “You know what, nevermind for now. We’ll talk about that later. I_ **haven’t seen** _you for two and a half months, I’ve been_ **riding** _and_ **running** _for three weeks to_ **find** _you. I just want to spend time with my wife right now.” He steps back with heavy breath. “Come on. I’ll start camp.”_

_I watch my husband start away from me._

_It hurts. It fucking hurts all over again. Here he is acting like two and half months is only grounds for spending time together. How many times did I wait at the gates or in a fucking watchtower for him to come riding back? How many times did I wait for a letter only to find he wrote Pádraig instead? My husband forced me to live without him. Now he wants to run back like he’s saved me from monsters?_

_“No.”_

_Alistair stops mid-step. His torso rocks with the sudden halt of his feet. I can almost see his eyes bulge in disbelief._

_I watch him spin back around to face me, two arms-reach away. His arms, not mine._

_“Excuse me?” he says._

_“No. I’m not making camp with you, Alistair. I’m...” I close my eyes for a deep breath. When I open my eyes, he’s still here staring. “I’m going back home. To Vigil’s Keep. With my Wardens.”_

_“Home to Vigil’s Keep,” Alistair echoes with high brows. “You live in_ **Denerim,** _Tess. With_ **me.”**

_“I don’t want to live there anymore. That…” as if this isn’t hard enough for me. I take a deep breath and stand straight. I don’t think I look brave right now. “Your palace is a place where lies and sneaking started. Vigil’s Keep is where I healed from that. I’m happy there. I’m not going anywhere with you.”_

_“Healed?” He echoes again._

_“I shouldn’t have to explain your own lies to you, Alistair. I’ve made up my mind. You’ve abandoned me and kept secrets from me for the last time. I can’t live like that anymore.”_

_“I never abandoned you, Tess.”_

_“That’s what it’s called when you pawn me off somewhere I never wanted to go and ignore me so you can go somewhere you’re not supposed to be.”_

_Alistair stares like I’m missing the point. “I went to stop a disaster before it started.”_

_“A meeting_ **I** _could have dissolved in minutes because the plan to give Celene Jainen was_ **my** _idea in the first place. You didn’t trust me to handle it, Alistair. You chose not to trust your wife with that long before you left.” My eyes water against my will. “That was_ **my** _land, the Cousland teyrnir._ **If** _something happened, I could have handled it._ **Fergus** _could have handled it. But you chose to lie to me, and_ **linger** _there - just like you lingered with_ **Morrigan** _-”_

 _Alistair frowns so hard definite lines etch._ **“That’s** _what this is about?_ **Morrigan?”**

 _“No, that’s_ **not** _what this is about! But when you lie and sneak and throw your wife away where you know she doesn’t want to be, can you_ **blame** _me? When you refuse to write me but you write Pádraig instead? You didn’t think about your wife, but you thought about your_ **General** _whom you told to_ **lie** _for you? How can I_ **not** _think there is another Morrigan, Alistair?”_

_“This is not a conversation for the public, Tess.”_

_“They’re not the public, Alistair! These people_ **live** _with us! These people_ **know** _what your absence did to me! You told me you would return a month and a half ago, and you only now show up. You have one of the_ **fastest** _horses in the_ **world.** _It does not take you a month and a half to get from Redcliffe to Amaranthine! You weren’t even_ **in** _Redcliffe until_ **three weeks** _ago!”_

_“Try to calm it down, please?” Anders calls over. Because I have stitches. “Fearless Leader?”_

_He’s right. I should not strain myself right now. It’s so hard not to with Alistair here, though. I close my eyes and take a deep breath._

_As if this time will change something, when I open my eyes, Alistair is still here._

_His jaw is tight. “I don’t know how you can do this, Tess.”_

_“Don’t call me that.”_

_If ever words could cut like a knife, this is it. The air might have been bread for the blatant severance my denial caused._

_I don’t let anyone who doesn’t feel like family call me Tess._

_“I’m your_ **husband. ”** _This hurts Alistair more than when I tried to leave him during the Blight._

 _I’m not doing this to be cruel. I’m doing this for_ **me.** _I need to watch out for_ **me** _now. I haven't done that since we met Shale in Honnleath four years ago. I’ve let Alistair take care of me. Watching out for_ **me** _doesn’t happen if I fall right back into the life where what Tess wants does not matter._

 _“And my husband made me learn to sleep without him, made me do_ **everything** _without him.” I can’t stop it. All the tears and the pain comes out anyway. I don’t have strength to hold it before him anymore._ **“You** _made me feel that way!”_

_“I never meant it to be that way, Tess.”_

_“But you did it anyway!” How can he not see it?_

_“I hid the conference to keep you from hurting, Tess. I did that for your own good!” he insists._

_“That’s your fucking problem, Alistair!_ **Everything** _you’ve done for_ **my own good** _has_ **only hurt** _me! In the_ **Deep Roads,** _at_ **Haven,** _in_ **Denerim,** **Redcliffe,** _at the_ **palace! Every** _time you do something for_ **my own good, you hurt me!** _You_ **hide** _things from me until you explode! And you only explode because I get the nerve - like right now - to tell you I’m not going to put up with it anymore! And you know I’m right!” When I realize I’ve been yelling, I look over. But Anders isn’t trying to stop me now. He looks like he hurts for me._

_Maybe trading Velanna wasn’t a good idea. I don’t want to use this womb anymore._

_But it’s too late for that._

_Alistair looks like I slapped him. That same diminished expression he always wears when he realizes he’s hurt me. “Tess-”_

_“No! No, you just -_ You **hurt** _me, Alistair!_ **You** _need to_ **just listen** _right now. You get these wild ideas that you ought to_ **hide** _things from me like hiding it will make it all better. But you never stop to think what it does to_ **me** _first. You act like I_ **can’t** **handle** _things. Even though you_ **tell** _people I’m experienced, you_ **treat** _me like I’m_ **not.** _You_ **treat** _me like I’m_ **incapable** _\- when_ **I** _could actually handle problems with Celene_ **better** _than you,” I point out. “And by_ **hiding** _it from me, you showed the world_ **you** _don’t trust me to run the_ **country** _right. You_ **married** _me, but it’s_ **better** _if you stash me away so_ **I** _don’t interfere.” We stare at each other. Out of arm's reach. He knows I’m right. But I don’t know if he believes I’m serious. Another example of how my husband doesn’t trust me. “And if you’ll try to hide something like_ **that** _from your Queen,_ **what else** _are you hiding from me?_ **Why** _did it_ **really** _take you two months to ride the north road to Redcliffe?” I shake my head. “I can’t trust you’re not hiding other things from me. Not if you’re think you can hide important meetings with an Empress from me. Because what’s another Morrigan compared to possible war?”_

_“It’s nothing like…” Alistair pauses to breathe, then starts to advance with his arms open. I step back. Alistair freezes and stares again. “Am I not allowed to hold my wife?”_

_I shake my head. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”_

_“I’m still Alistair. That hasn’t changed, Tess.”_

_“That’s how much_ **I’ve** _changed trying to deal with my husband gone. You_ **lied** _and_ **sneaked around** _me, Alistair._ **You started** _that before we even left for Vigil’s Keep._ **You forced** _me to get up and move on as if you never intended to come back.” I hesitate. Tears keep leaking. I don’t want to look at him. “Nathaniel is the only reason I’m still alive right now._ **You hurt me that bad.”**

 **“Alive?”** _the words scrape off. A hefty gasp puffs his chest. Alistair’s trying to hold back tears. "You--?” He looks back towards his party._

 _I stand straighter. “Pádraig and Zevran didn’t say I tried to die?_ **Oghren** _almost lost an_ **organ** _from it. But_ **why would** _they tell you?_ **You** _taught them it was_ **okay** _to lie to their monarchs._ **For** _our own good.”_

_Alistair doesn’t look at me. His eyes move, he’s thinking. But he doesn’t look at me._

_I don’t think he guessed how far one lie could burrow._

_“May I explain the conference, then? Since it now seems no one did.”_

_“Your General explained enough.”_

_“There was more to it than that, Tess.”_

_“Don’t call me that, Alistair. I’m not -_ **You** _segregated us. Not me.”_

 _“I won’t.” He shakes his head at me. “No matter what you think happened, you’re still_ **my** _family.”_

 _“You should have thought about that_ **before** _you lied to me. I have_ **never** _lied to you, Alistair._ **Never.”** _It’s too late for me. I can’t undo everything_ **he made me** _feel._

_He pauses again. “I had to write a declaration, Tess," he explains the conference anyway. "No Weapons on the Waking Sea. Period.”_

_“What?” I stare at him._

_Alistair nods. “Celene and I signed it, with Fergus, Alfstanna, Knight-Commander Frederic, and Franderel. Because if the people keep threatening Alfstanna and the Chevaliers, it will be war. Celene is a good Empress. No matter how much you love her, she will defend her country if ours attacks. And_ **I** _must go to war_ **against** _her if Orlais fights back. I_ **don’t** _want to do that. I_ **don’t** _want to order the death of someone_ **you care** _about. We are trying to sort it out so it_ **doesn’t** _come to that. Writing that declaration was a_ **significant** _setback in my country’s faith in me. Fereldans_ **and** _Orlesians protest it. We had to_ **rob** _our people of their right to_ **protect** _themselves to buy us time to devise a better plan. That’s it.” Alistair shakes his head. “As if that’s_ **trivial.”** _His eyelids are red, but he hasn’t spilled tears. “I kept you out of it because I didn’t want you watching Celene declare war._ **If** _it came down to that. I’m_ **grateful** _it didn’t. I didn’t…” His chest shudders with breath. “I didn’t want another Morrigan to happen._ **Not** _in the sense you used, but the_ **betrayal.** _I didn’t want you watching_ **someone else** _you love_ **vow** _to hurt you. I don’t want that to happen. And_ **I** _can’t_ **protect** _you if my country is trying to bring_ **me down** _over a deal made a decade ago.”_

 _“You’re blaming this on_ **me?”**

_His face falls. “That’s not what I said.”_

_“That’s what you implied. You just said the country is trying to bring you down over the deal I made a decade ago.”_

_“It was a_ **risk,** _Tess._ **You** _knew it._ **I** _knew it when you told me.” He stares back. “You_ **can’t do** _this to me, Tess. To_ **us.** _You can’t use this an excuse to break us apart.”_

 _“You can accuse me of making excuses to tear us apart, but your lies already doing so is justified? Why? Because_ **you** _said it? Lies_ **you** _say are justified_ **because you** _say them? But when_ **I** _want you to_ **stop** _lying to me, it’s a_ **hogshit excuse** _to_ **leave** _you? Questioning how important I really am to my husband when_ **he** _lies to me is nothing more than_ **me** _digging for attention?” I search him. “Alistair you could have_ **avoided** _all this! You had that choice! You_ **could** _have said ‘Tess there is something happening with Celene that might upset you, I’d rather you stay home and let me deal with it just in case’. But you did_ **didn’t** **.** _You_ **chose** _to lie to me! You chose to have my_ **guardsmen** _lie to me._ **You chose** _to time me meeting the new Warden recruits with your_ **secret conference.** _They were at the Keep for months, we could have gone sooner. You never had to_ **leave** _me there as an excuse to keep me out of it. Those choices were_ **yours!** _They were_ **not me** _rebelling against my_ **marriage.”** _I step back again. “You shouldn’t have come, Alistair. Go back to Denerim.”_

_“No.” He shakes his head and moves closer. “You’re my wife! I don’t want that to change!”_

_“But the wife you’re treating me as is not the wife I want to be!” I cry out. “Doing things separate is how_ **Cailan** _and_ **Anora** _were.” I gesture away. “Anora’s_ **still** _in_ **Denerim,** _if you_ **really** _want a wife you don’t have to tell things to.”_

 _“I am not marrying Anora, Tess._ **How** _can you_ **tell** _me that? What makes you_ **think** _I want that?”_

 _“Obviously you do! Otherwise you wouldn’t forget to tell your wife you need to head off a potential war on the coast! Anora’s the type of wife who would_ **let** _you not tell her stuff like that.” Why is it_ **necessary** _to have this conversation with my_ **husband?** _“You married me_ **before** _you became King but_ **you** _have_ **forgotten** _that, Alistair! I have given you_ **chance** _after_ **chance** _to stop hurting me when_ **you** _act in_ **my** _best interest. But it_ **never stops!** _It never gets better, it only gets different._ **You** _never get better! It’s escalated from_ **Fade dreams** _to_ **potential war!** _I can’t keep doing this! I can’t keep giving you myself when you just want me to be like Anora! You just want me to shut up and accept it because you_ **the King said so!** _You_ **beg** _me not to leave you when we fight! Like you are right now!_ **Every single time!** _How many chances do_ **you need** _to_ **stop** _doing things the way you keep doing them? How many times do you need to try_ **not** _to hurt me?!” I cry out. “Pádraig keeping your secret_ **on your orders** _was more important than_ **me** _staying_ _alive! What’s next? What do you_ **honestly** _think will happen when you do stuff like this?”_

_“Nothing was supposed go this deep, Tess! I didn’t know you tried to--” he can’t say it._

_“But it_ **did!** _It went that deep and YOU SET IT IN MOTION! This is_ **your fault,** _Alistair! And instead of trying to_ **fix** _it, you’re over here_ **blaming** _me! I’M SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR WIFE!”_

 _“That’s enough!” Anders rushes over. “That’s enough._ **Thank** _you, King Alistair. It was_ **good** _to see you again, but_ **we** _need to_ **go.”** _He starts to lead me away, but Alistair stops him._

_“I’m talking to my wife, mage.”_

_Anders tenses; he hasn’t been nothing but a Mage in months. Alistair hit a chord. “No, you’re upsetting her. And I won’t have it. Goodbye, have a nice day, I’ll see-_

_“You aren’t taking my wife anywhere!”_

_“I_ **am** _and_ **you** _won’t stop me!” Anders holds his ground._

_Alistair grabs his arm. Nathaniel draws his bow. “I am the King-”_

_“Not out here!” Anders reminds him, shaking Alistair off again. “Out here, you’re nothing but a Warden who’s upsetting my patient!”_

**“Patient?”** _Alistair’s face distorts with a sudden fear of the unknown. His hand slips from Anders’ arm. His eyes search me up and down._ **“Why** _are you his_ **patient?”**

 _“Because I did something_ **really** _stupid.” I never should have chased the Architect down. “And it wasn’t worth it.”_

_Anders stares at me. “It doesn’t matter. It’s about time for a potion anyway. Maybe we should go back inside. How do you feel?”_

_“No no no,_ **wait!** _WAIT! What happened?” Alistair moves in front of me and ducks to see my face. I don’t look at him. “Tess,_ **why** _do you need a potion?_ **Why** _are you a patient? Look at me, Tess._ **Please?”**

_“Would you like me to tell him?” Nathaniel asks._

**“Someone** _tell me!” Alistair demands._

_“Cousin?” Nathaniel calls for approval._

_“It’s okay,” Anders tells me, low and gentle. He turns me away from Alistair. “You don’t have to.”_

_“It’s fine.” I say. “Nathaniel…?”_

_“My cousin has a new womb.” Brief and to the point._

**“What?”** _Alistair’s voice drops._

_“She wanted children with her husband,” Nathaniel embellishes. I look over. He holds his face like any day. I never said that. He’s trying to make Alistair feel guilty for blaming me._

_I want it to work. Alistair had no right to blame me when I question his lies._

_“Back up --” Alistair winces and cocks his head like he always does when he tries to comprehend an impossible situation. “What do you mean,_ **new womb?”**

_Nathaniel looks at me and Anders and shakes his head in question. “Where is the confusion in what I said?” he tells Alistair._

_“It’s as it sounds,” Anders confirms. “She underwent a great deal of pain to get a new, working womb. And if you keep upsetting her, the stitches will rip and I’ll need to cut her open to sew her up again.”_

**“Stitches?** _Where did you_ **get** _a womb?” Alistair stares at me._

_“You don’t want to know, kid,” Oghren speaks up._

_“No, tell me!_ **Tess?”** _As if I’m being unfair._

_“I had a Dalish Warden whose Taint hadn’t set in.” I say. “It’s quite literal, Alistair. I have a new womb.”_

_“An_ **elf?!** _Tess!! And you didn’t think to ask me first??” Alistair turns me around again._

 _“How could I? You weren’t at the Keep when I left. Like you_ **should** _have been. I had an opportunity and I took_ _it. It was_ **my** _choice.”_

 _“But it_ **affects both** _of us! I_ **don’t want** _some elf’s children, Tess! I_ **want yours!** _I want_ **our** _children!” Alistair looks like I robbed him of everything he’s ever worked for._

 _“Maker, really? They don’t teach Templars anatomy?” Anders says in disbelief. “Her eggs_ **aren’t** _in the uterus. They’re_ **separate.** **All** _women's are. And in a month, the womb won’t be elven anymore. Elf genes transform into human genes. It’s how their species survives. It’s why they there are no_ **half-** _elves. In about a month, it will be_ **her** _womb with_ **her** _blood.” Anders points at me. “And I’ll need to start making you potions for that. Don’t let me forget.”_

_“Potions for what?” It doesn’t seem Alistair can handle anymore news today._

_“For her monthly cycle.” Anders seems dumbfounded how a Templar does not know. “She’ll bleed. Once a month. It happens to all women. They really don’t teach Templars that?”_

_“Tess has never bled. Not like that.”_

_“Because her_ **womb** _was bad. But_ **now** _she’s got a_ **new** _one.” Anders enunciates. “And I’m her_ **physician,** _so when I say don’t upset her because her stitches may rip, I_ **mean** _it. I do_ **not** _care if you’re the_ **King.** _You could be the_ **Maker** _and I’d tell you back off. Her health is_ **my** _responsibility. You will_ **not** _get in the way.” Anders takes a deep breath. “Will one of you go check on our horses?” He looks at our Wardens. “We need to leave. At least, make camp away from these people.”_

_“I’m staying with my wife,” Alistair says._

**“No,** _because you’re making it_ **impossible** _to keep her calm and relaxed,” Anders asserts. “End of story._ **Your Majesty.”**

 

 

_It’s quiet tonight. Alistair’s camp - with Pádraig, Zevran, and the entire elite guard - is within sight. Their fire blazes bright, and silhouettes move around. We can’t hear them. But we all know why they’re so close. Alistair’s not letting me out of his sight. No amount of arguing or explanation convinces him I’m better off without him until this new womb grows into my body._

_My boys set up camp. I sit at the fire scrunched up in pain while the boys finish laying bedmats in tents and my husband disapproves of everything from across the field. Not counting last night when camp was already set, this is the first time I haven’t helped them. I feel weak. Unusable._

_I hate it._

_Nathaniel plops down next to me and holds out his hand. It’s become tradition when I’m feeling less than well. He lets me hold his hand and cry. It takes no time for tears to spill tonight. Even with my dog at my side, I need my cousin now._

_“I’m sorry, cousin.” Nathaniel cradles my head at his shoulder._

_“Here. This will help. At least with one of your problems tonight.”_

_“Oghren, she can’t drink. She’s stitched up. She’ll bleed out if she gets drunk.” Then Anders sighs. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I can’t do more. I don’t really have expertise in… marriage or politics. Especially not both together.”_

_“Neither of us do.” Oghren slurps._

_“It’s okay.” I don’t sound okay._

_“It’s not. But it will be. I suspect it will be easier when he goes back to Denerim.” Nathaniel's voice vibrates through his shoulder._

_“Or not,” Anders groans. “You really don’t take No for an answer, do you? No wonder you made a bad Templar.”_

_“That’s enough.” Alistair._

_Maker, You’ve got to be kidding? Can You_ **please** _just let this night end in_ **peace** _for me?_

_I look up to see Alistair glaring at me and Nathaniel like he caught us groping instead._

_“Don’t_ **even** _give me that look,” Nathaniel warns._

 _“What_ **other** _reason would a man hold a woman?” Alistair challenges._

 _“Your words reveal you, Alistair. It is_ **disturbing** _you only associate compassion with lust.” Nathaniel shakes his head. His observation isn’t wrong. Alistair was never so compassionate with our female companions during the Blight, not as he was with me._

_“Then what are you doing with my wife?”_

_“I’m being her friend. She’s had a hard day.” Enough stress at the right place to remind Alistair of his fault._

_Alistair stares for a moment. He searches me from across the fire, then looks away with a quiet sigh. Something falls from his hands with a dry clank and he bends down._

_“That’s not a good idea. Sorry, kid.” Oghren shakes his head._

_“Objection noted, Oghren.” Alistair continues what he’s doing. I peer around the fire to see him drive a stake in the ground._

_A tent. He’s setting up a tent._

_“What are you doing?” I ask him._

_“I’m still a Grey Warden, aren’t I?” he responds without looking up. “I’ll stay with my Grey Warden wife.”_

_“No,” I protest. “Alistair, I am doing this alone. Without you. This is_ **my** _thing now.”_

 _Nathaniel squeezes my hand. I’m_ **not** _alone. I have new Wardens._

_Alistair shakes his head, continuing his tent. “I’ve told you before, Tess, before I even became King: if you don’t want me to be King anymore just say it, and I’ll stop.”_

_“I_ **did** _say so._ **Many** _times, Alistair._ **You** _insisted being King was_ **best** _for us.”_

 _Alistair stares at me. His hands are busy stringing rope through ends of a leather sheet. “Then_ **let** _me finally listen to my wife,” he says. Did he sit over there concocting all this? “Let me make up for not listening when you needed me to._ _I’ll go_ _where my_ **wife** _is happiest. We have resources now. I can leave the kingdom to Fergus and Teagan, if we need to, and_ **they** _can sort it out,” he suggests._

 _“And then what?” I ask. “You’ll_ **resent** _me for not letting you live how you think you should?”_

 _“No.” He shakes his head. “We’ll live how we wanted to live in the first place. We’ll take care of whatever needs wrapping up at Vigil’s Keep, then we’ll go. Just us,_ **just** _like we wanted from the beginning.” He pauses and his eyes drift. “And maybe now, the_ **whole** _dream can come true.” My new womb. He means for us to re-create our life from the Fade._

 **Now** _that I have a womb that can make children, he wants that life?_

_Why is he doing this?_

_“What if I don’t_ **want** _that life anymore, Alistair? Do_ **I** _have a say in this? Or is this something else you’re deciding in_ **my** _best interest?”_

_Alistair stares again. Everyone stares; I feel their anticipation. It’s clear Alistair thought his proposal would change my mind. Maybe he thought it was the reason for me getting a new womb. Only in that life do we have children._

_But that life isn’t real. It only exists in the Fade. Neither of us are those people from that dream. He should know this. He has no right to use those dreams to wedge his way back to me._

_“You aren’t the man from that dream, Alistair. You haven’t been since before the Deep Roads. And I am not that woman. Not by far._ **That** _Tess has_ **never** _existed.”_

_Alistair breathes long and deep, then turns back to his tent. He drives the stakes and pulls the tarp as if we never had this conversation._

_The boys look at me, look at each other. None of us know what to say. Alistair doesn’t want to be a Grey Warden with me; he wants_ **me** _to be the Warden, not himself. But he’s setting up for the night with the Wardens because I won’t go to his King-friendly camp. I don’t know if the others can tell he came to bribe me with a dream. What is obvious is Alistair's stubbornness. He hopes the rift will die out if he’s persistent. Even Justice looks perplexed._

_When his tent stands firm, bedmat ready inside, Alistair turns around to face us all. He clasps his hands at his front, then swings them at his side. Alistair takes a deep breath._

_Whatever he’s doing, he’s nervous._

_“Hello. My name is_ **Alistair.** _It is a pleasure to meet you all.” He clasps his hands again. I can only stare at him. He gestures with his thumb to the other camp. “Those men over there are keeping watch tonight. It’s their_ **job,** _they’re paid_ **well** _to do it. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long day.” With that, he ducks into his tent and shuffles around. He only opens it again to set his boots outside._

_What the fuck is my husband doing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	18. Maintain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair tries to cope with Tess' surgery and change of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> Tess: [Mercy, by Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yj8Xpdx60Ws)  
> Alistair: [ Breathe, by Michelle Branch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OiwqYcoVTU)

_Anders sticks his fingers inside me._

_Up between my legs. That’s how he checks for irregularities. It’s bloody awkward lying in a tent with this man’s fingers prodding around in my lady parts - especially with my husband right outside. I think Anders feels awkward also. But he makes it funny. He makes jokes about the look on my face or about my husband eavesdropping. Jokes aloud how lucky he is he got the job of fingering the boss. Nathaniel groans in embarrassment. Oghren chuckles and shouts suggestions; Anders stops checking me to bury his laugh in my knee. Alistair growls and something snaps; Nathaniel scolds him for wasting resources. Justice says my exam is not for others’ ears._

_I don’t need Anders to tell me how swollen I am. Compared to my shape before, I might pass as expecting. He wipes a smear of blood off his hand before turning to coat me in a golden glow; healing magic. He says when we return to the Keep, I’ll need to stay in bed a few weeks. No lifting, minimize bending over, lots of water and loose clothing. Treat me like I’m… pregnant._

_Anders asks me if I regret it. Regret begging the Architect. Whispers when he recalls how much I repelled my husband yesterday. I don’t have a clue how to answer him. I wasn’t thinking right. All I thought about was undoing Loghain’s poison half my life ago. Anders reminds me he’s here if I want to talk or need help._ **Assures** _me he’s here._

_I don’t think Anders wanted to help the Architect fix me up. But I believe Anders wants to be here now. His friendship makes me cry all over again._

 

_I don’t know what to do about Alistair. He won’t leave. He’s decided not to be King around us; though he still plays King to Pádraig and the guard. With us, he’s trying to blend in, trying to help. He helped pick up camp and packed up my tent. He keeps asking if I need anything. I don’t know if he’s genuine or kissing ass. Oghren thinks Alistair’s lost his marbles. Alistair doesn’t pick up on Nathaniel’s artful repartee. Anders is suspicious and stays close to me._

_We have a unique arrangement. At camp, Nathaniel always sits to my left, and Anders to my right. When we ride, Anders is always to my left and Nathaniel to my right. If we share a tent, Nathaniel is in the middle and I sleep to his left, and Anders to his right. Oghren and Justice are always here, but they are off to the sides, mingling with us from there. It’s how it is. It’s like our auras align us according to our situations and times of day._

_Now, while Po is used to staying at my right, he does not mind adjusting. He falls in on another side of me. Alistair, on the other hand, cannot adjust. He keeps trying to ride beside me. But doing so disrupts the flow Anders, Nathaniel and I have built up. Frustrated but trying to his keep head, Alistair rides near Justice or Oghren, only to repeat the process when we stop. He sits to my left only to get swept off by Nathaniel. He sits to my right only to get scolded by Anders. Oghren is amused by the whole thing. Alistair’s patience is tested non-stop, but he won’t stop acting like he’s always been apart of this new family. He won’t accept this family has nothing to do with him. We built it without him._

_Part of me still loves my husband. But the part that doesn’t want to be hurt anymore wants him to realize I have a new life now. I want Alistair to understand what_ **his** _actions set in motion._ **He** _sent me away._ **Alistair** _dumped me in this new life, and against the odds, it worked out in_ **my** _favor. This new life handed me a_ **new** _family who has defined places at my side, places that cannot be substituted. It gave me a new rhythm to breathe to. It showed me_ **how** _to breathe again._

_I can’t give this up just because my husband decides to stop ignoring me._

 

 

 

**ALISTAIR:**

It was all wrong. Tess not only didn’t need Alistair, but she didn’t **_want_ ** him. Didn’t want him helping her stand, or singing, or making her tea. Didn’t want him to comfort her. Things only Alistair could help her with before now did not require him.

Did one white lie really spin so far out of control that he could not recover? _Did he really screw up so bad?_

He meant to be back in time. He played it out in his head a dozen times before he ever decided it. Alistair would return and say _Oh yeah, by the way, when I was in Highever, Alfstanna called us down, and Celene was there. It wasn’t as dire as Alfstanna guessed, we laughed over drinks later._ He thought _Tess_ would laugh over it. Thought she would brush off Alfstanna worrying about the Orlesian Empress, because _Tess_ did not worry over Celene.

But here Alistair was, carrying the weight of a harmless euphemism that was not harmless.

Even worse to see his wife take solace in other men. There was no kissing, no caressing. Nothing romantic as far as Alistair saw, but watching them… Tess had found comfort in the mage and Howe. The two men seemed to know Tess like they’d all grown up together. They passed things without looking, seemed to move as a single body. Tess moved, and Anders and Howe moved with her. Like they were extensions of her.

Like Tess used to be to Alistair.

When potions wore off and her pain returned, they stopped the world for her. Even Oghren helped, and that possessed corpse. One helped her off the horse, and the others set up a camp right there so Tess could overcome her affliction. Alistair wasn’t sure Anders needing to play doctor was the half of it. There was never this much _care_ with injuries during the Blight; Zevran and the mages did their job, and rest came as needed. But not with these people. Until the new pain potions worked, Anders and Howe were _right there_ helping her endure; Howe most of all.

Alistair studied them, Howe and Tess. _Nathaniel,_ as Tess called him. He watched how _Nathaniel_ treated Tess, how Tess reacted to Nathaniel. Anders was supportive withal, but he was not as prone to touch as Nathaniel was. When Tess hurt, Nathaniel sat next to her and held her hand, brought his forehead to Tess’ and murmured. It took Alistair a few times to observe Nathaniel was counting a pattern, giving her a beat to breathe to. _Nathaniel helped Tess breathe._ Helped her breathe in ways Alistair never tried, and let her cry through it. Never once told her to calm down. When she wasn’t in pain, Nathaniel would often hand her things before she asked for them. Knew what hand she held what in. The man seemed to know when she was hungry, and when she needed to relieve herself. While Nathaniel scoured the world around them with watchful eyes, certainty was always present when he looked at Tess. Nathaniel had observed and memorized Tess; it was obvious. He was _confident_ interacting with her. And Tess reached out to Nathaniel foremost because of it. While Anders was always present, there was something about Nathaniel Tess gravitated to more.

It was a crushing thought: other men in the world made good matches for Tess. There wasn’t just _one_ match for her. The weight of Tess _choosing_ to stay with Alistair during the Blight only now sunk in: _Tess_ knew she was not meant for Alistair long ago. She was not _meant_ for _Alistair._ She had chosen to stay, but Tess had known all along. Now, it was too late for Alistair to appreciate her choice. If he had understood it sooner, he might not have risked the white lie. But he felt in his gut _it was too late._ Anyone with the right mind could replace Alistair in a heartbeat, and Tess would not look back. If Tess _was_ leaving Alistair for good, Nathaniel would treat her _as she needed._

It occurred to Alistair maybe his wife did not _need_ to be treated as Queen.

He had always _seen_ a queen in Tess. Because of that, he always wanted to give her the life of a queen. What better way than _make_ her Queen? He became King so he could give her everything she could want. But it didn’t seem to be what she _needed._ What _she_ needed.

It brought a sigh that sunk his heart into his gut. Tess did not want being Queen offered her. Which meant she did not want what being married to _Alistair_ offered her. Not anymore.

Before he became King, Tess took him aside one night and declared she didn’t want him to be king. Tess said she felt the only way they could stay together and not fight was if they stayed with the Wardens. But _Alistair insisted_ being King and Queen was _best_ for them. It was the best way a nobody-stable boy-Grey Warden could provide for his wife who _deserved_ to be Queen.

... Even when he learned being Queen meant entombing her in her past mistakes...

 _Alistair did not listen to her._ So Tess stayed.

As he watched her now, it was evident all this time, she’d only _dealt_ with it.

Nathaniel already treated her better than Alistair ever had.

Alistair did _not_ want give up his wife. Meeting her changed his life, it changed his _fate._ She gave him purpose in an existence where he saw none. Alistair married for love, and he wasn’t about to let that change. But how _could_ he change it? What was there to do when his wife had found the life she wanted _away_ from him?

Another hard realization: if Alistair’s wife would ever desire him again, he needed to stop being her _Husband the King_ and instead be _her Husband._ Be the husband _she needed._ He only ever wanted to be King _for_ her, but what the point of being King _for her_ if he could not keep his wife? Changing himself and how he approached his wife was crucial if he ever expected her to come back.

But the problem was in plain view. Nathaniel was already a better husband-figure than Alistair had been. At the same, Alistair could not get rid of Nathaniel, not even as King. Tess would resent him forever. Alistair also already tried to join their party. He’d announced he was starting over with them, and he was staying to be with his wife. Everyone would resent him if he made sure Nathaniel could not come back.

Although… Nathaniel seemed to know Tess well... He might have the answers, or clues, Alistair sought to regain his wife.

It had been days since Alistair found Tess in the Wending Wood. Her steed reacted to her discomfort by walking, and could not be agitated to speed up. Arrival at Vigil’s Keep was still days away.

Nathaniel knelt cleaning fowl away from camp. As good a time as any without others eavesdropping. Alistair sauntered over, not a clue how he could ask this man who'd wanted to _kill_ his wife how to _win back_ his wife.

“Alistair.” Nathaniel greeted before Alistair spoke.

“How-- … _Nathaniel,”_ Alistair corrected himself.

Nathaniel turned his head and gave Alistair a thorough look-over in only a moment, brow raised as if to say _I dare you to try again._ According to Oghren, Nathaniel was not associated with his traitorous father now. But it was still harder than expected not to challenge Nathaniel’s glare. As King, people did not get away with glaring at Alistair.

When Alistair remained standing, Nathaniel tossed a young, de-feathered turkey with a nod. “Make yourself useful. Your wife will eat sooner if you help clean these.”

Alistair could not argue that. With a nod and a loud breath, Alistair drew his dagger and knelt.

“What? No, it will take you hours with that. Here.” Nathaniel reached to his side and pulled out a hunting knife. He leaned over and held it out by the tip.

“You carry two of these? At all times?” Alistair asked, glancing to the knife in Nathaniel’s other hand

“I like to be prepared.”

Alistair nodded to the logic. He dug a hole in the skin and ripped the lower belly of his turkey. “A handy man to have around, then.”

Nathaniel stopped working and stared. _“What_ do you _want,_ Alistair?” Sharp and ready to contend.

Alistair opened his mouth to assert himself as King… then remembered why he was there in the first place. He breathed through is nose and kept working the knife. “Why does my wife _like_ you now? You tried to kill each other before.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes with a noise of contempt. “That is a question my **_cousin_ ** is better suited answering.”

“I’m asking you. I want your stance.

“But I can’t speak speak for my cousin. I don’t decide what she likes or why.”

Alistair stared for a moment. What an odd concept. That wasn’t what he… No. _Asshole._ “No, Howe, I’m not here to argue. Or lecture. I’m looking for answers.”

Nathaniel sighed aloud and shook his head. _“Fine,_ Alistair. _Ask_ your misdirected questions.”

“If Tess wasn’t my wife, would you marry her?”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes again. “Why does everyone seem intent on insisting I associate my cousin with courtship?” The turkey jerked beneath his hands.

"Would you? You seem to be a good match. You get along well.”

“I see. _That’s_ what this is about.” Nathaniel glanced with a grimace of annoyance.

“If she wasn’t married to me, would you?”

 _“If_ she wasn’t married and did not love anyone, I would consider it. I enjoy living with her now, as much as it can be considered such. Better her than an arranged marriage. I certainly don’t need to worry about her character.”

“Even if you aren’t attracted to her? _Are_ you attracted to her?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Just… please answer the questions.”

Nathaniel sighed. _“If_ I married her, it would be because I respect her and I know I could live content if we shared a house. _If_ that ever happened, I suppose… anything to do with heirs would need figuring out when the time came. We both might have to be _extremely drunk_ the first few times. Or maybe _always_ drunk.” Intestines dangled while Nathaniel reached in to cut. _“_ Although, in different circumstances, who knows? My father ruined more than my family name. If he hadn’t done what he’d done, perhaps Tesslyn would still be a political cousin instead of feel like a sister.”

 _Sister?_ Alistair hadn’t expected this. “So the hand holding and… cuddling?”

“She likes physical closeness. It helps her feel better. You don’t know this?” Nathaniel glanced over. “Keep cleaning.” He gestured to Alistair’s turkey with his head.

Alistair fought the urge to roll his eyes. He pressed the knife till it cracked through bone and wiggled the neck. “But what is it to _you?”_ He tossed the head in the unkempt pile of feathers and feet.

“Alistair, I’m _not interested_ in my cousin’s _body.”_

“Nathaniel,” he pressed.

Nathaniel dropped and shook his head, hand stuck inside the bird. “I am losing patience,” he muttered. He sighed again. “When I hold her hand or sit with her, I do it help her stop hurting. I happen to know what it’s like to feel abandoned and lied-”

Alistair shook his head. “But I didn’t aba-”

“It is _not_ a good feeling.” Nathaniel interrupted right back with a glare. “If I can help my cousin pass it, then I _will._ This - _being a Grey Warden_ \- is my _life,_ now. She, and her pain, are part of it. It makes no sense to wade in her pain when something can be done to change that for her. Changing it for _her_ changes it for _us.”_

 _“What_ changed? When I left, you wanted to kill each other,” Alistair repeated.

 _"As_ I’ve been saying, I help her get through the pain.”

“By holding her hand?” Alistair asked in doubt. Because who held hands with their _sister_ so often?

Nathaniel stared for a moment. “She doesn’t always want to hold hands at the fireside. Don’t you know your own wife better than this?”

“Apparently not. I had no idea she felt anything she said in the Wood.”

“That is an unfortunate cast of luck,” Nathaniel’s repartee was so smooth it almost flew by Alistair unnoticed.

“I’m trying to figure out why does my wife likes _you_ more than _me.”_ Alistair set aside the heart, lungs, and liver of his own turkey for Po. “And what I can do fix it.”

“You want to give her _ultimatums?_ Have cousins and friends, _or_ be married to you? That is an _established_ way to _fail,_ Alistair. Why can’t she have both?”

“That’s not what I said and you know it.”

“It _sounds_ like you’re afraid of her liking someone _more_ than you.” Hand bloody and full of giblets, Nathaniel moved hair from his face with his wrist. _“I_ don’t look at friendship as a scale of who likes who better. That is _childish_ measuring. What’s wrong with her valuing us the same but for different reasons? Isn’t that how she compares you and Fergus already? She likes you both the same but in different ways. _I_ won’t make my cousin choose between me and her husband. _I_ don’t want to fulfill what a husband _should_ fulfill in her life. I am not offering her that.” Nathaniel shook his head.

“But what-”

Nathaniel dismissed him with a wave: “You _need_ to talk to my _cousin_ about this, not me. I can’t snap my fingers and make her love you again.” He picked up his turkey. “And forgetting you lied is not the answer. _Talk_ to _her.”_

“I don’t want to tell her. I’m…” Alistair took a deep breath and looked away. “I want to change. I want her to _see_ I’ve changed, that I can be what she needs _without_ her needing beg me. _Without_ us _fighting_ first.”

“That’s part of your problem right there.” Dead bird still in his hands, Nathaniel gestured to Alistair. “You want your wife to love you but you don’t want her knowing your intentions. You don’t want to involve her with _you._ How can you know what she needs if you don’t ask her? You don’t make friends shutting people out. Shutting your wife out has already driven her away.”

“I was _trying_ to _protect_ her.”

Nathaniel stared in disbelief for a moment. “All right, _look._ Something my time fighting alongside my cousin, Anders, and Oghren has taught me: _sometimes_ you must let someone take an _arrow_ to protect them from a _battleaxe.”_

Battle. Alistair understood that. Better to crush Tess under his shield than let her get stabbed by Shrieks. It worked in battle well enough.

He just didn’t understand how _everyday life_ should be treated as battle. That was half the point of becoming King and Queen, they could be _done_ with battle. Let _others_ battle _for_ them.

But if one small lie caused a war in their marriage… Nathaniel was right. It would have been better to wound Tess for only a minute with the truth when Alistair made the plans.

Nathaniel paused to study the stubborn King before him. “Talk to your wife, Alistair. _Trust_ her. You don’t seem to do that. You don’t trust that _she’ll_ give you the right answer.” Nathaniel shook his head. “I can only tell you _she_ holds the right answer. Not me, not you. It’s _not up to you_ what _her_ _needs_ are. _Worse,_ you got angry at _her_ for not trusting you when _you_ actually did something untrustworthy. I can’t say if my cousin will ever want you again. But _I_ have listened to what she’s unhappy about.” He began away again. “Her _husband_ should be _twice_ as willing to do so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	19. Inspirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair takes Nathaniel's advice to heart, and healing Tess becomes a group effort, laughter - and love - her medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Between the Raindrops, by Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG6-bU6esKo)

Alistair stepped around Po, dropping giblets before passing off the turkey to Nathaniel. “Oghren, let me see that for a bit.” Alistair leaned over and snatched the dwarf’s flask.

“Nug-humper. Get your own!” Oghren protested without moving as Alistair stole a drink.

Whatever was in the flask replaced the grin on Alistair’s face with a hiss as it dripped from his hands. “Fuck! Did I cut myself?” he wondered aloud.

“How did you manage that?” Nathaniel asked.

“On the whole," he rubbed his hands together, "do you know how I hunt, Nathaniel?”

“You didn’t hunt these. _I_ did.”

“I _Smite_ them. Doing it _hard_ enough takes the feathers and innards right out.” Alistair rinsed his hands off, turning them in the firelight to double-check.

“You are disturbing.”

Alistair took another swig from the flask and made a face. _“Maker,_ Ogh, what’s in here?” He capped it and tossed it back.

Oghren growled upon catching it. “Nothing, now. Sodhead.”

Alistair shook his hands dry, glancing at his wife. Tess tipped her head back to finish a second potion. He took a deep breath, and turned before she could sit down. Before he could stop himself.

Her breath caught under his lips. Alistair cupped her jaw, did his best to kiss her like he used to. Tender, deliberate. The way he used to kiss her when she declared her love. Hot breath against him thrummed his heart.

Nathaniel made a noise. _“Ah_ \- Alistair, when I said _talk to her,_ that’s not… I didn’t mean with your tongue.”

Anders sputtered protests. “Didn’t you just drink--? Don’t kiss her with _that_ mouth! You’ll _thin_ her _blood!”_

As much as Alistair wanted to laugh, he couldn’t. Couldn’t lose his focus. Tess stared at him, uncertain, surprised. Alistair took breath again, still holding her head.

“Tell me what you need, Tess,” he told his wife.

“What?”

“”What you need from _me,”_ he clarified. “Tell me what you need from me. From your _husband.”_

She stared at him like she didn’t know how to answer, leaning back. He had taken her too off-guard.

“I _miss_ you, Tess. I _more than love you._ I want to _help_ you through this. I want to…” he tried to organize Nathaniel’s advice in his head. “I want to listen - I’m _ready_ to listen to you.” Alistair wet his lips. His eyes traveled over the scar he almost couldn’t see anymore. He would miss them all; reminders he couldn’t afford to risk her safety. Reminders she had stayed though he couldn’t always protect her, even from himself. He supposed this was a time for new _everything._ And she was still beautiful, with or without the scars. Tess as _she_ wanted to be, now. _At last_ _._ “What do you need from me? What do you need from your _husband_ that _no one else_ can give you?”

She searched him still. Familiar emotions crossed her beautiful face: confusion, longing, hurt, love - _he hoped._ “An apology,” she answered.

“I am _so sorry,_ Tess,” he did not hesitate. “I don’t know how to say _how_ sorry I am. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” Alistair shook his head. “I won’t- I won’t try to make anymore excuses. It’s done, it was a _mistake._ I apologize from the depths of my heart, Tess. I want to be something you _need,_ again. _How do I do that?”_

Her eyes dropped with her brows. “I’m… not ready to talk about this now, Alistair.”

He nodded and stepped back, letting his hands drop. “All right. That’s fair.” Alistair kept nodding. “Thank you,” he told her.

 _“Wow!”_ Anders let out a laugh of disbelief. “Put a pretty girl in your face, and _you’re_ just an _awkward giant.”_ He was all too amused.

 _“What?”_ Alistair look around. “Haven’t you seen a king in love with his wife before?”

“No.”

“No.” Nathaniel shook his head.

Alistair thought for a moment, then huffed at the irony of his dead brother. “Actually, where was Anora for that?” he wondered aloud.

“No doubt on her _knees_ with Vaughan Kendell’s _cock_ throat-deep,” Tess said from behind him. Nathaniel snorted so loud it almost echoed in the night. Anders laughed so hard he lost balance, and Oghren snickered. Alistair glanced back at his wife. She gave a shrug of a shoulder and her face. “I’ll need to cut off her hand. I _said_ something like that once. Although, considering, that _is_ an act of servitude…”

Alistair’s chest swelled. He couldn’t stop his smile. Joking was a good start.

Maybe that’s what she needed: to see he wanted to meet _her_ needs.

 

 

 

 **“Must** _I stay in bed?” I whine._

_Anders chuckles, a huge grin lighting up his face. “Tainted werewolves? No problem. Bed rest? Oh the horror,” he jokes._

_“Indeed. What kind of doctor prescribes bed rest to his patients?” it doesn't sound as miserable I meant it._

_He raises his brows like a mother asking who knows best. His crooked smile is so adorable. “The_ **good** _kind.” He holds the back of my head while he plants a peck on my forehead. “Get used to it. I don’t want to cut you open to fix a broken seam.”_

_“Yes, mother,” I play._

_“No, if I was your mother, I could_ **really** _nurse you back to health.” His smile spreads through when my laugh bursts in the room._

_“Maker save me! Anders!!” I try to swat him. My grin is as big as his now._

_“All right. Give me a few minutes.” His blonde ponytail disappears out the door. “Oh!” He leans back in. “Lavender and elfroot.” He raps against the doorway. “Three or four tubs of honey?” he plays innocent._

_“Tubs?” I laugh._ **“Spoons.** _Three_ **spoons,”** _I giggle._

_“Oh, right. Spoons.” He flashes me his most charming grin with a wink._

_“Get out of here!” I can’t stop giggling. “Before I cheat on my husband!”_

**“Well,** _in_ **that** _case…” Anders pretends to sneak back in and close the door._

 _“Wait,_ **what?”** _Alistair calls from down the hall. Anders’ face scrunches with another laugh before he leaves my room at last._

 

 

_I am already bored. It hasn’t been hours since we arrived, but here I sit with heavy sighs. I hate bed rest. My handmaiden Blaire sits by the hearth, ready to serve, but quiet with her stitching. Justice isn't allowed in; Anders won't risk fleshrot. Nathaniel brought in fresh food, two chairs, and propped his legs up, but it wasn’t long before he went limp with a bored sigh. Anders had fun directing servants in with vases of incense and flowers, but now he lays in his own chair, feet on my bed, tossing a ball of twine._

_Alistair walks in with a stocked writing board._

_Blaire stands to curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she greets._

_“Afternoon, Blaire. Anders, Nathaniel.” Alistair doesn’t look at any of us. His eyes are on the writing board while he steps around Nathaniel and sits on the edge of my bed. “I’m writing your brother. Would you like me to add anything?”_

_“Fergus?” Nathaniel perks up. “Yes, tell him to stop by. I’d like to see him again.”_

_Alistair glances up. “I was talking to my wife.”_

_“Tell him to visit anyway,” Nathaniel replies. Alistair rolls his eyes, and looks at me._

_“Why are you writing him?” I ask._

_“Summoning him to Denerim. So I can stay here with you.”_

_“Regent? He’ll spike your drinks for this if he stops by first,” I warn him._

_I’m not sure what to do about Alistair. The words My Husband don’t feel loving anymore. It feels more… a job title. Wife is a job I’ve accepted. I don’t think I love him like I used to. Not sure if I can. He’s not more than… a partner, now._

_But he won’t leave. Since he kissed me that night, he’s stayed close and involved. Closer than I’m ready for yet. He’s…_

_...trying to blend in, that much is obvious. Be one of us. He’s not, yet. But he’s not snapping or glaring when he can’t be right next to me anymore. He’s begun joking with Anders. Last night he learned Nathaniel’s banter._

_My husband is making himself part of my new life._

_I don’t know what to do now but flow with it. I’m not in a position to do anything else until I heal._

_Alistair shakes his head with another roll of his eyes. “He already did that in Highever. I was on the toilet half a day.” Anders snorts from the end of my bed._

_“I know how to help make that more efficient,” Nathaniel quips._

_“Me too.” Anders grins, tossing the twine to Nathaniel now._

_I remember Oghren and the mushrooms and giggle. “And make him_ **imagine** _he’s on the toilet.” Alistair frowns at me with his jaw out. His eyes say he’s glad I’m teasing him._

_Disgust and amusement take my boys. Anders’ eyes crinkle and Nathaniel makes noise. “Ech. No thank you. I don’t want to find him shitting in the library.”_

_“Eew.” My nose scrunches with another giggle._

_Alistair sighs. “Spend three months with a bunch of boys, and_ **look** _at you.” He shakes his head with a smile._

 _“Not just_ **any** _boys, mind you.” Anders grins. “Utterly fun and_ **amazing** _boys.” He winks at me._

 _“You must not have been at the Tower when I was there._ **I** _was more fun than_ **anyone.”** _Alistair turns the lap-sized writing desk and hands me the quill._

 _“Oh, I doubt that._ **No** _one was more fun at the Tower than me,” Anders jokes back._

_I read the parchment before me. An official statement declaring Teyrn Fergus Cousland Regent of Ferelden while the King and Queen deal with an accidental cave-in of a darkspawn-infested thaig in the Arling of Amaranthine. A less formal letter to Fergus dries to the side of it._

_“Does that sound all right?” Alistair asks me._

_“Yes, it’s fine.” I watch him heat sealing wax in a single candle flame. “You don’t need my name on everything,” I remind him._

_“Just keeping my wife involved.” He drips the wax over the bottom of the declaration. I sigh under my breath and press down the -_ **our** _\- royal Theirin-Cousland seal._

_Alistair watches me for a moment. I don’t look back. From the corner of my eyes, Nathaniel and Anders look away to avoid catching the awkwardness._

_“That Treasurer from Weisshaupt contracted a trader-” Alistair begins._

_I groan and feel my eyes bulge. “She did not!”_

_Anders grins lop-sided with a huff. “Oh, she is_ **so** _in trouble. Hey, Nathaniel,” the ball of twine soars from his hand. “Bets on how long till she’s gone? Winner gets to use her room for whatever they want. I put four sovereigns down and a week.”_

_Nathaniel rolls his eyes and tosses the twine back. “A practicality shop or a bakery?” he says in doubt. Alistair watches them in curiosity._

_“A practicality shop?” Anders laughs. “Oh, Nate, you poor, dull man!”_

_“A_ **week** _is_ **foolish,** _Anders. Tesslyn is in bed for a month, remember?_ **Your** _orders. But as soon as she’s allowed up?_ **Ten** _sovereigns, and because of bedrest, at_ **least** _a month.” Nathaniel nods._

_“Fuck off!” Anders scoffs. I giggle at my boys. “Fine. Ten.” He nudges my leg with his foot. “Hey, Tess, can I borrow ten sovereigns?” Nathaniel’s laugh rings in the room._

_"And here I was about to ask if you wanted something from the merchant." Alistair leans over to kiss my cheek with a small smile. "Have fun with your_ **children,** _Commander."_

_If only it was always such fun. Boredom settles back in before supper. To top it off, Anders prescribes me light foods. I risk ripping stitches if I constipate from heavy Fereldan food and little activity. Boring food. Boring hours._

_For some reason, I never considered the healing process when I begged the Architect to sew a new womb into me._

_Nathaniel sits bored with me again before picking up a book and reading aloud. In almost an instant, I’m captivated. I don’t ever catch him reading. Even better, he reads like he had practice in theatre. He balances on two chair legs, rocking while he projects his voice for various characters. Nathaniel animates his voice like he seldom does in banter. I love it._

_Days continue like this. A small audience forms at my door. Alistair and Anders watch, sometimes Zevran joins. Nathaniel ignores them, reading aloud to me like that’s all that matters. Sometimes Nathaniel passes me the book, points out female lines for me to read. Some of the dialogue in this book is so ridiculous I can’t read without laughing. Nathaniel grins and laughs with me, always rocking back in his chair. When I pass the book back, sometimes I peek at our audience. Zevran anticipates the next words. Alistair watches amused, arms crossed at his chest, chuckling when we giggle. Anders winks at me with my favorite smile; he enjoys this silly stuff as much as I do._

_It’s not complete bed rest. Every day, Anders takes me for a slow walk around the inner bailey or gardens. If it rains, we walk around the Keep. I look forward to this. It’s quiet, no prying servants. I don’t have to be anyone on our walks. He lets me be me, and I don’t think Anders can get any more sweet. I hold his arm while we walk. Sometimes if the chill coastal breeze blows over, he lets me walk right against him to stay warm. On those days, he holds my other hand on top of his arm. Even though he is not one for cuddling._

_Anders dreams of living in the mountains. His own house, out of Chantry jurisdiction, his own garden. Wants to shoot fireworks from his hands each night with a nightcap without reprimand. He wants to live with as many cats as he can find. With Ser Pounce-a-Lot in his pocket, he tells me a mouser at Kinloch Hold got him through a year of solitary confinement. Cats were his only friends till he met me. Anders still wakes surprised every day to find he has so much freedom and trust. Surprised_ **I** _trust him so much, considering what he does to me each day. He admits sometimes he wakes up and it takes him a while to remember this life is_ **not** _a dream. Says he lived waking to an aching heart for so long it’s strange not to feel it anymore. He almost doesn’t know what to without hurting._

 _I never guessed this. Not about him. Anders is so cheerful. Happiness seems to come so easy for him. While conscripting Nathaniel helped_ **me,** _I never once considered how conscription helped_ **Anders.** _The day he confided all this in me, I hugged him as tight as I could. He stood with his arms around me and let me cry for him. He thanked me for being his friend. Anders spends his days taking immaculate, sometimes awkward care of me, yet I’m not his patient. I’m_ **friend.** _For what it’s worth, I’m glad his Templar escorts brought him here. They brought me someone I don’t want to live without._

_I have a feeling Nathaniel already knew about Anders adjusting. I think he figured it out on his own, when before I only assumed Anders had a rough life. A new atmosphere settled over us the day Anders confided in me. I realized it was something only the three of us shared. We all wanted to be done with life, in some way. Nathaniel came here to kill or be killed; when killing a Queen would guarantee his death. Anders was trying to escape a never-ending anguish with only a single ray of hope to hold him to life. I was trying to endure each day and hope I wasn’t truly forgotten. And we found each other. We never had to meet our agonizing ends. We latched on to each other and we haven’t looked back. I finally understand what happened to us. Why these boys followed me in my despair._

_At night, when candles and hearths help the Keep cast grand shadows, we lie on my bed and Anders plays with his magic. I’m trapped in my blanket as they weigh it down on either side. I hold their arms to keep them here, though there is enough room for all three of us. With only the fireplace aglow, Anders dances his hand in breathtaking lights. Streams of color swirl in different directions and explode on my ceiling like small fireworks._

_Just like Anders says he wants at his dream house. I smile at him under the bursting rainbows. Fate stops us all from obtaining - or realizing - our true dreams right now. But for a life dictated by societal rules we can’t always avoid, this is pretty good. Anders holds my hand to his chest and continues living his dream of playing with fireworks at night. I have never felt more special than now, when this man includes me in his_ **dreams** **.**

 _Sometimes my husband stands in the doorway and watches the light show with us. If the boys see him, they don’t acknowledge him. Alistair now understands there are some things Anders, Nathaniel, and I do together; no one else. He seemed jealous at first, of my walks with Anders and my time alone with Nathaniel. But Nathaniel has spoken to him. Alistair is trying to understand, if not accept, me and my boys have a bond that cannot disappear. Anders and Nathaniel are_ **part** _of me. I don’t want to feel ripped apart inside again. My boys_ **stay** _with me, and I with them._

_Fergus appeared one day; a rest stop on his way to Denerim. Stepped in my room and froze while Anders and Nathaniel lay next to me in the dark and Anders lit up my ceiling again. My brother announced himself by demanding someone explain what the fuck he walked in on. The loudest and most pronounced curse I’ve heard yelped from Nathaniel as he fell off the bed trying to sit up. Fergus near lost his balance trying to absorb everything Alistair, Nathaniel and Anders explained._

_Harder yet is telling my brother_ **why** _I needed a new womb. Nathaniel and Anders leave the room as Alistair helps me explain. I learn Fergus, Teagan, and Cailan always assumed Loghain_ **only** _took me against my will._

_I think I broke my brother again. He cries in front of us, which makes me cry. Fergus says he failed me. Failed me as my big brother, like he failed as father and husband and son._

_I cry myself to sleep that night. For the first time since I came to the Keep, and I think to Anders and Nathaniel’s dismay, only my husband’s arms hold relief. I had let myself forget Alistair was there after the Fade in Kinloch, where I relived what Loghain did. Forgot my husband was there every time I woke from nightmares. I forgot the Fade in Kinloch put Alistair in a position to mourn the womb I could not use._

_I realize I miss Alistair being there when I wake up scared. When I wake up plain and simple._

_Anders dances me through the halls, now, after our walks each day. Slow, careful, I think equal parts trying to be silly and trying to help me feel like a lady. He twirls me around until he pulls smiles and laughter from me. Anders is not the best dancer, but I love it. Sometimes Nathaniel cuts in and steals me across the room, and sometimes Anders steals me back. Giggles fill the hall as they learn to sneak up on each other to snatch me. Sometimes they try to steal me so quick they get each other instead and spill to the floor. While they wrestle and knock around like little boys, Alistair exploits their distraction. My husband stares in my eyes as he whisks me away for a private dance and my favorite tea in my room._

_I feel things for my husband again. Little things I did not know I could take for granted stir up my heart and make me miss him. He is taller than everyone here. I miss looking up at him. The way one nostril crinkles up into his cheek when he smirks. The way his eyes roll back and breath catches when I brush hair off his face,_ **when I touch him.** _The emanation pouring from his eyes. The way his mouth cradles his tongue when he laughs. His firm hands always there wherever I turn. Always ready to catch me. Always ready to bring me to his heart._ **His scent under my nose when he holds me to his heart.**

 _My hands remember where his go and how he holds me. I don’t need to look. I move with him, like he is my lungs and I am his air. My body hasn’t forgotten him at all._ **I** _remember the man I married._

 _He kissed me tonight. Tender and slow. Smooth, plump lips. His breath warmed my whole body. His mustache and beard sent shivers down to my core and drew me deeper in his arms. A perfect kiss._ **His** _perfect kiss. It took my breath away._

_Anders and Nathaniel joke how I’ll leave them now. They spend one moment feigning sorrow, then argue over who gets my room when I leave. Oghren joining in from down the hall only makes it funnier._

_Anders is adamant about my bedtime routine, though. Even if Alistair sneaks in to kiss me, Anders always takes the last few minutes to unwind from the day with me. He holds my hand and we talk about the day together with a last cup of tea. I’m healing better than he expects... Though aside watching the Architect, Anders has only read about uterine transplants before. He says soon I’ll need to build my abdomen back up, strengthen those muscles and the womb. He already has ingredients ready for potions so I don’t bleed every month, in case we investigate Knotwood Hills. He’ll need to let me bleed once to make sure it’s normal._

_Anders sits for a moment, thumb grazing over the back of my hand. Then he asks if I had fun today. His eyes smile at me when I giggle again at his daytime silliness. His lips linger when he kisses my forehead goodnight, and squeezes my hand tighter._

_I think Anders feels I’m about to abandon him. He exposed himself to me, made himself vulnerable… then my husband came in and stole part of my heart back. I think Anders is trying to memorize me in case I leave and never look back._

_I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time. But if I do, I’m taking my boys._

_And then Nathaniel… either bored without me, or trying to keep me company even if he’s bored sitting with me. He’s never comfortable in one position for long, always needs to move. Anything can be a drum around him, and if left to it long enough, he’ll hum or sing songs I don’t know. Rivaini songs, he says. Songs he says have soul and life of their own. Songs I imagine people dance to with finger cymbals, belly chains, and long skirts that sway and twirl to a dozen drums. I did not know my cousin could sing or even appreciated music. I love this side of him to no end._

_It reminds me of Celene and the time she had me dance and sing; a distraction for her elf to sneak in. I loved it. I didn’t know I could dance like that. I think she said the song had Rivaini roots. Nathaniel suggests we hire minstrels. He reckons a party may be in order when I recover._

_Sometimes Nathaniel shares my bed. He sits atop the covers, sometimes next to me, sometimes at the end of my feet. We play cards, together or two solo games; he is_ **much** _better. He recalls funny childhood memories at Highever I never knew about. He brings me wood and we carve things together. We try to carve little statues of each other. Mine looks more like Oghren, and the one he carves has a_ **huge** _round bum. He shows me how to carve and play marbles, though he says the glass Orlesian ones work better. Anders doesn’t like the mess on the bed, but he does nothing more than complain. With Anders keeping me on a light diet until I’m fully healed, Nathaniel takes pity. My cousin leaps around shadows of the Keep to bring me bits of hot meat and crispy fat fresh from the kitchen. Ser Pounce-a-Lot rats him out one day, follows Nathaniel through the halls and meows at the door until Anders investigates. Anders finally gives in - almost. He allows me to eat fat, but I must relinquish the rest of my steak to Ser Pounce-a-Lot; Anders is_ **fearful** _I’ll rip my stitches with constipation. When he’s not whittling with me, reading, or spoiling me behind Anders’ back, my cousin reclines. Sometimes in chairs around the room, sometimes half on my bed. If he sits still long enough, Nathaniel falls asleep. It’s almost sweet._

_With hushed giggles, Anders and I don’t hesitate to exploit his naps. Make-up - Nathaniel looks lovely in plums, corals, and glitter. Braids - Anders is quite good at those. Alistair brings in a feather and shaving cream - avoids telling me whose it is - and he fills Nathaniel’s palms. Anders tickles Nathaniel awake, and he and Alistair roll on the floor in a fit of laughter. And once, Nathaniel slept long enough for Anders to sew a breastband on his shirt._

_It never stops Nathaniel from napping in my room, though. He always peeks with one eye, first, while waking. Always checks I’m still here. Sometimes he reaches over for my hand while he wakes. Squeezes like he’s trying to find a pulse, a reminder he’s a wake._

_It reminds me I cursed my cousin, and Anders. We_ **all** _have nightmares of darkspawn now._

_The boys never dwell on such things, though. They make every day worth every moment I’m stuck in this bed. Now when Nathaniel reads, Alistair invests himself in the fun; when before he only watched. Nathaniel’s loud commentary at distasteful events in our stories makes anyone laugh. When Nathaniel picks a new book with no female lines, he calls Anders to join in. Watching them read this one tests my will; if I laugh too hard I’ll strain my stitches. They change their voices for different characters, each taking more lines than he can handle. Anders throws his voice so well he makes my sides hurts. They spend so much time laughing they forget which lines they mean to read, which only makes everyone else laugh._

_Except for Blaire. My poor tiny handmaiden excuses herself so many times. I don’t think she’s ever seen grown men act so frivolous. It_ **never** _got like this at the palace, not even with Zevran, Teagan, Alistair, Fergus, and Oghren all together._

 _After two nights of this book, not even Nathaniel and Anders can keep up anymore. No one’s sure what they’ve read. They invite Alistair, Zevran, and Oghren to join. Now, as if nothing they read before was funny, this is fucking hysterical. Not only do they read, but_ **Alistair** _must_ **act** _it out; he’s not satisfied otherwise. Zevran can’t help but act it out with him, and the others somehow aren’t able to resist. Oghren drinking through each reading prompts the others to. Sometimes they all get drunk reading_ **one** _chapter. Sometimes one or two are so drunk they fall over. When a new character comes into play, Alistair pulls Pádraig in - and Oghren says he’d feel more in character with costumes. I laugh so fucking hard I almost pee the bed. They return in the silliest makeshift costumes of drapes, sheets, maids dresses, and kitchenware. I can only imagine the looks Varel and Garavel and Woolsey give the noise. Pádraig and Zevran help enlarge the madness coming from this Arl’s room as if I never banished them from my sight. These boys -_ **my** _boys acting out these stories best they can around my bedroom, laugh so hard at themselves they forget where they are when they pass the book. They can’t hold themselves up half the time for laughing so hard._

 _And though I laugh with them, so hard my eyes water, I realize something wonderful. They did this for_ **me.** _Not for themselves; though no one can deny they’re enjoying it. They began reading for_ **me,** _to help me pass the boredom of bedrest. Two of them I haven’t spoken to in weeks, yet they play it out like the rest. They’re here, making complete fools of themselves for_ **my** _sake. No one made them. They came together to help me feel better._

 _Maybe I_ **don’t** _need to lose my husband to gain brothers? Maybe I don’t have to give up my old family to gain a new one. I can keep_ **both.** _I can_ **expand** _my family. Grow it. One big family._

 **Better** _than I had before._

 

 

 _Passing the first blood of this new womb puts life into perspective for Alistair. Anders wants me in bed still, to make sure only the lining sheds, not the whole womb. He says if it’s normal, then_ **Velanna** _\- he named the womb, the little shit - is no longer Velanna and is all Tess. The whole thing is bloody and awkward and the cotton pad in my smalls needs changing too many times. Everyone leaves for these changes but Anders and my maids. I have not felt so uncomfortable and embarrassed since… Maker, I can’t even remember. Anders laughs when I tell him it feels like a diaper, and he offers to breastfeed me. With a huge cotton pad between my legs, I can’t sodding move quick enough to smack him._

 _When Alistair re-enters my room, he does not mind possible messes. His eyes water when Anders says an egg should hold in a month or two. My husband lies down next me, propping his head up next to my belly. He locks the door a couple times a day to lift my gown to see my skin. He stares like he’s captivated. I’m almost not swollen anymore; what’s left is bedrest growing on my gut. Still, Alistair traces… as if there is a baby inside. I remind him I’m not with child, that it’s an empty womb. But Alistair doesn’t care. He says it doesn’t matter how empty it is right now._ **It can be filled,** _now. His eyes water again when he recalls my swollen belly in the Fade. Rapid heartbeats and tiny feet. He can't wait to have that out here in real life._

_Alistair looks up at me, eyes reddening under tears of relief and hope. “We can have our babies now, Tess.”_

_Anders tolerates Alistair in the room for my check-ups now. Not that he has much of a choice. Alistair is stubborn and won’t leave. I still haven’t decided to go back to the palace with Alistair, at least not yet. But Alistair says it doesn’t matter. He’ll ride back and forth if he needs to. After years of trying -_ **yearning** _\- to conceive, Alistair can almost taste fatherhood. He wants to make sure my healing is complete regardless of when I’ll return to the palace._

 _Anders looks completely chagrin. He wears a permanent grimace on his face, glancing at my husband while he feels around. He must stick his fingers inside me again while I’m bleeding to make sure my cervix has dilated right, that the womb itself isn’t falling apart. I try to keep my head away from them. With Alistair right here, awkward isn’t_ **close** _to what_ **I** _feel right now._

 _“_ **So!”** _Anders finally says, stabbing the mortifying silence. “How_ **are** _you…_ **Alistair?** _While I’ve got my hand up your--” He can’t make out the last words before his head falls in heavy laughter. When I dare myself to look at my husband, Alistair’s laughing just as hard, shaking his head, face buried in his hands._

_Maker, this should not be funny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	20. Paramour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess has a change of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Between the Raindrops, by Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG6-bU6esKo)

_The day Anders lets me off bedrest makes me sigh so loud I almost sound resentful of my bed. I stand and stretch as tall as I can with a triumphant shout, and with a grin Anders threatens more bedrest._

_Able to see the whole of the Keep all day now, I realize how much I missed. Running Vigil’s Keep became a group effort. Whoever wasn’t in the room with me helped with everything. Alistair never ran the place as King, instead he engaged the others. Visiting merchants, messengers, traveling knights, even welcoming the new blacksmith - all taken care of my boys_ **and** _Alistair’s team. If anyone needs help during the day, they ask, and anyone not busy volunteers without question. I watch Alistair and Nathaniel now coordinate with a stonemason. Alistair doesn’t order anyone. They confer with each other. Questions and options and, if needed, compromises. When Anders isn’t busy with me, he is also treated as an important person who knows what to do. He’s not even Master Mage, he’s Warden or Healer Anders now. They are_ **all** _important now, not just my husband._

_Alistair’s learned to share again. He forgot how to do that not long after we met._

_Alistair smiles when he notice me. “Glad to see you up and about, Commander.” He keeps calling me that! I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or trying to encourage me. I don’t like it much. My husband leans down and puts his lips to my cheek. He smells of peppermint, vanilla, and pepper; he ordered Nevarran tea again. “Your throne awaits you.” He steps back and gestures to the ruling seat._

_Once a hard, uncomfortable wooden chair, now padded back and seat with quilted pillows._

_“You need to stop letting Pádraig decorate.” I say. Alistair grins at my private joke. Every time we’ve camped together since meeting Pádraig, the man littered our tent with pillows for comfort. Someone - I assume Pádraig - snorts from the other hall._

_I stare for a moment. “I don’t want it. But_ **Nathaniel** _does.”_

_“You take that back!” my cousin retorts without looking up._

_“Arl Howe the second,” Alistair grins._

**“You** _take_ **that** _back! Or my cousin will be a widow by nightfall.” Nathaniel throws a crumpled up note at my husband._

_“Fine by me!” Anders calls back with a laugh._

_Alistair looks at me when I giggle. He’s trying not to smile, but his eyes laugh hard. “I have a feeling this is what it’s like to have sons.”_

_Nathaniel shakes his head. “Forget it, Alistair. I’m not calling you Da.”_

 

 

_I’m glad for lunch. I can eat normal food again, meat - actual meat, brown, crispy, juicy chunks of meat. It’s just me and Anders at the huge dining table, but the room isn’t quiet by far. I never noticed how busy this room gets; how did we ever talk over such racket? Servants are half the noise: Cauley, the young cook from the palace, seems thrilled to make all my favorite foods again. Anders keeps stopping me from stuffing too much in my mouth at once, or chewing too fast. I almost can’t help it, though. I haven’t seen most these foods in weeks. The smells alone are overwhelming. At least he’s lenient with the fat._

_Anders also advises me to train again, with weapons and magic. He’s already talked it over with Alistair: Alistair will challenge my magic, and Nathaniel and Zevran will make sure I’m still up to par as a rogue. Anders says strengthening back up is the last step of my healing - if I can’t move a certain way, something’s not right. With a heavy sigh, he hopes aloud nothing’s healed wrong._

_For a moment, he sits watching me stuff my gob. I can’t tell if he’s disgusted or amused. When I cut another crispy strip off, he laughs into his hand._

_“Makerrrrrr,” he groans through his laugh. “I’ll have to make you a potion.” He thinks I’m blocking myself up._

_“No you won’t,” I say while my teeth work. I wash it down with a slosh of wine. “It’s not that bad.”_

_He turns his head in his hand and smiles like I’m hopeless. “It looks that bad. If you don’t take care of yourself,_ **I’ll** _have to do it.”_

 _“That sounds like a proposition.” I put my finger to mouth and shush hard. “My_ **husband** _is in the other room!” I can’t say it without laughing._

_Anders laughs loud. “What’s the point of a proposition? I’ve already stuck my fingers--”_

_I clamp a hand over his mouth and muffle my laugh on his shoulder. “Shhhh!!!” it comes out broken with snorts as he laughs beneath my hand._

_“All right, all right,” he giggles, taking my hand from his mouth. “I admit I’ve had_ **smoother** _chat up lines before.” His shoulders shake me with his quiet laugh. “But it’s true, I have,” he reminds me. I giggle again and try to move back so I can reach my wine. But Anders has a lock on my hand._

_His fingers glide across my hand under the table. I watch his face. Is Anders is aware he does this? Caresses my hand. He does it when we have tea at night, and when we walk around the gardens._

_Then he reaches over with his other hand and dips his bread in gravy._

_Anders_ **is** _holding my hand._

_My heart hurts all a sudden. He never used to do this before, not until my second week in bed._

_Anders turns his head. Am I imagining the look on his face? He looks so casual right now. Like he’s completely comfortable being close to me._

_Un… less I’m reading too far into this. Nathaniel holds my hand too._

_Anders isn’t my cousin, though._

_But I spent the past month as his_ **patient.** _He just talked about making me a potion for constipation._

 _I_ **am** _reading too far into this._

_“Are you all right?” Anders asks as I sigh. I reach for my wine with my other arm._

_Maker, Tess, you’re making this_ **awkward.**

_“Yes.”_

_Anders looks around before dropping his voice in a whisper. “Okay, I’ve had my_ **fingers** _up your_ **vagina** _for a month,” he reminds me. I almost choke on my wine. “You can’t hide much from me anymore.”_

_I swallow and glare at him, not hiding a smile well. “Stop saying that,” I tell him._

_“What? Stick my fingers up your va--” I push my other hand to his mouth and snort again. Anders laughs again; silent, violent laughter that shakes me just by touching him._

_“Just wait till I stick_ **my** _fingers up_ **your-”**

_His laugh cuts me off so loud it chimes around the goblets and hanging platters._

_A bump of the table jolts us apart like normal, mature adults not sitting too close together._

**“Maker, Nathaniel!”** _I hiss._

_My cousin shakes his head at us. “You two need to practice your discretion.” He reaches over the table to peel chunks off the roast._

_“What?” I shrug at him._

_“What indeed.” Nathaniel stares at us. “The fact you jumped away says everything.”_

_“You startled the_ **fuck** _out of me.” I insist. He’s got that playful glint in his eyes again. I sigh and roll my eyes. “You little shit.”_

 _He grins through a bite. “Had you for a second. It’s_ **fun** _sneaking up on you. You never expect it. Even better we’re not the only Wardens here now.” He means my husband. I glare and blink at my cousin, but he only laughs._

 _“Maybe you had_ **her.** _I, however, wasn’t pretending._ **Was** _I, dumpling?” Anders smiles at me._

_I glare at him over my goblet, then smack my mouth. “Dumpling?”_

_He falls in a chuckle, face scrunching, shoulders shaking. “It sounded better than_ **Pudding,** _taken where my fingers have been.”_

_“Void take me.” I drop my flaming face to my hands._

_Nathaniel makes a noise. “I…do_ **not** _want to know.”_

 

 

 

 _Training doesn’t quite go as I understood it. Alistair_ **will** _help me practice counter-magic, but first, it’s Anders’ turn._

_After watching me in the Architect’s lair, Anders has a better idea how I use what’s inside me, whether it’s actual mana or lyrium. Intent, Anders tells me, is half of magic. In my case, more so because I can absorb and reject incoming magic - if I am willing to direct it._

_These lessons are on the lawn past the gardens. Anders walks me through stretching exercises that remind me of my old Crow tutor fifteen years go. Slow, flowing. Some make me think I’m worshiping nature. Anders says they aren’t required, but it’s easier to direct spells with loose joints. He says stretching like this gets the blood flowing,_

_He pauses to stare at me and wiggle his fingers with a broad grin. A fucking reminder he stuck his hand in me during my blood. He laughs when I scoff and slump away._

_Anders can’t tell me how to move to best summon my own magic, but he shows me how he does it. He tells me to study his fingers and joints, his face, how he stands. He doesn’t know how to summon it slow, but with enough observing, it might come easier for me._

_His clothes are light and fitting so I can see how his arms move, how his legs brace him for heavy area spells. His fingers move as if on strings, and the more he moves them, the more he looks puppeteered and made of wood. He keeps his shirt unlaced so I see how his muscles move; he flexes his upper arms for area spells and defensive close-range spells. I find myself breathing with him when summons storms. He inhales till he feels his mana start to rise, then evens his breath and imagines it filling like a dam. Releasing the dam - releasing his mana - coincides with breathing. Without a single joke, he likens it almost to an orgasm. For him, at least, he feels it ready, feels it rise, he focuses on that and only that, and right as it spills over, his breath steals and the magic flows out. Not sexual pleasure, but similar relief._

_“Orgasm?” I stare at him._

_“Yeah.” He sighs and tips his head. “Maybe not the best example.”_

_“But I don’t feel it like that,” I shake my head._

_“You don’t?”_

_I shake my head again. “It’s more like a slow build-up. It_ **pools** _and_ **grows.** _Like…” I look away, trying to match a good visual image. “Rising dough.”_

_Anders’ brows leap and his mouth twitches to remain still._

_“No.” I frown and shake my head. “Hold on.”_

_Anders laughs like he’s holding most of it back. “Rising dough,” he echoes._

_“Sheep's bladder,” I correct._

_He bites his lips but his eyes laugh at me. His eyebrows damn near disappear into his hairline._

_“You’ve never played with a sheep’s bladder before?” I ask him._

_“Not that I recall.” He’s still trying so hard not to laugh._

_“I did as a kid. You wash it, tie up the Out-end, blow it up, tie up the In-end, and then toss it. You can also tie it to a string and fly it through the air.” I shake my head. “But that’s not my point. My_ **point** _is-”_

_He can’t hold the laugh in anymore._

_“- at first when you blow it up, it’s a small bubble, but then it keeps growing and growing, as large as you want it. If you blow it_ **too** _large, though, it just_ **explodes,** _and it’s_ **really** _messy and it_ **gets** _in your_ **hair-”**

 _“It gets in your hair?” I suspect his grin might jump off his face. His chest trembles with imprisoned laughter. “That’s how you orgasm?_ **Where** _have_ **I** _been?”_

 _I try to hold my face. “With your_ **fingers** _up my vagina.”_

_Anders laughs so hard he almost loses his balance. He grips my shoulders trying to stay upright, but it staggers me. It’s not much longer before I laugh with him._

_My heart skips when he looks at me. Grin as wide as his face, dimples stretch his laugh, his eyes sparkle in the sun with crinkles of joy. For me. Because of me._

_His breath pauses. Anders searches my eyes, his smile thinning to a single line across his face. For a moment, he almost looks sad._

_Does he feel it too?_

_But before I can discern it, he looks away with a shaky breath._

_I ruined it. I ruined the moment. Again._

_Tess,_ **what** _is_ **wrong** _with you today?_

_“I’m sorry. I’m making a fool of myself today.”_

_Anders shakes his head at me. He stretches his smile, moving his hand from my shoulder. A slow, light caress up to my neck plucks at my heart. A thumb along my jaw makes my lips itch. “You could never make a fool of yourself,” he assures me._

_“Oh, I do_ **plenty** _foolish things.” I shake my head also, looking away. “Just ask your_ **hand** _inside my_ **vagina** _a day ago.”_

_He crinkles in another hard, quiet laugh. “That should not be so funny.”_

 

 

 _My husband is planning to check on Fergus in Denerim in a couple weeks. Alistair tells me over a quiet, private dinner under the moonlight. Just me and him, a little table out in the garden. He holds my hand through supper, feeds me. Kisses me between bites._ **Wants to make love.** _Seduces me with his lips and hot breath and his beard on my skin. His husky laugh in my ear rumbles me deep inside. He strokes my skin in all the right places and makes me curl into him._

_I mixed his whiskey with so much wine I don’t remember half the night. But I remember rocking beneath him, his weight upon my body. I remember his hips beneath my heels, teeth on my breasts, his tongue everywhere. His grunts and moans filled my room with noises I didn’t think I would make with him again. I remember him behind me, grabbing my hips, my face smashed against the bed as he held me to him and let his stuttering groin empty. He stayed in - trying to make the dreams real - until he began thrusting again for another round. I think I fell asleep before he finished. I didn’t protest when he wanted me again in the morning._

_But I froze in front of Anders. I couldn’t look at him. I felt so ashamed I couldn’t look at this man who invested so many hours of himself into making me whole again… then stole my breath with a single smile. Anders touched my chin and tipped. He smiled for me, small, apologetic or saddened. The whole damned morning was awkward. Nathaniel watched us the whole two hours we stalled for our tea, not able to help but be around._

_Lessons with Anders don’t get any easier. The more romantic Alistair wants to be each night before he leaves for a week, the harder lessons are at first. I struggle to center myself and clear my mind. The more I struggle, the more patient Anders becomes with me. If I can’t do it and it vexes me, he takes me by the shoulders and sits me on the grass. He holds a hand to my heart and holds mine to his, and he counts my beats till they match his. As long as I don’t see Alistair watching in the distance, I can focus on Anders and what he tries to teach me._

_But the more he tries to teach me, the more distracted I am by little things that never affected me before. I swear when he holds my hand, he does it on purpose. He_ **cradles** _my hand in his. Strums. Lingers. It’s so different from when Nathaniel does it. It makes it hard to think during the day. It persists in my mind when I need to focus. Around midday, the sun glistens along his hair and on tiny beads of sweat, dotting his hairline and upper lip. Sunlight on his eyes makes them shimmer like the perfect hearth. When he’s right in front of my face…_

 _Maker, what is wrong with me? I’m the_ **Queen** _and I’m married. I can’t be doing this._

_Anders wants me to feel his skin. Wants me to follow the energy of his mana as it swells inside him. He ripped his sleeves off and unlaced his collar so I can trace his veins and feel the pressure of his mana under his skin. When he first suggested it, I thought in dread my husband would rush over. But as it began, as Anders closed his eyes and breathed till his chest rose and a hum thrummed, I stopped dreading._

**It stops my breath.** _I feel it and I didn’t expect to. It’s like breath itself rolls through his body. I feel the aura pushing back against my hands as it moves and I try to follow it as fast as I can. His chest, his shoulders, his arms, the creases and muscle bulge. My fingers tumble over his skin until at last at his hand, the energy converges in his palm and wisps of blue explode on his fingers._

 _My chest almost hurts. I touch his hand, trace his creases._ **I felt it.** _Follow his fingers up and lay my hand against his until it could almost be my hand aglow. I’m all too aware of my heavy breath and heaving chest while I marvel. It almost sounds like I just…_

_I lift my head and look at Anders. “An orgasm?” I recall._

_He grins with soft laugh. His chest doesn’t move as deep mine now. “It’s better when_ **you** _help.”_

_I can’t move. Only search his eyes. His hand closes around mine. Staring. Caress of his thumb. He moves our hands in till he can reach my face with the back of his fingers. His touch warms my whole cheek._

_He feels it too?_

_He’s beautiful. His eyes are beautiful. His smile skips my heart. The way he looks at me melts everything._

_Anders’ brows flick. “Ready for another round?” he teases. Because he likens it to an orgasm. He laughs at the look on my face and brings my hands in to his chest. I stare for a second. My breath stalls as I push my fingertips through tiny hairs._

_His breath catches, this time. “Start here this time,” he whispers._

 

 

_During lunch one day, Anders walks by the table. It’s noisy, table packed with people and food. I’m the only one who sees him at first. His violent smirk is all too suspicious. Then he produces a balloon - a small, blown bladder - and before I can look back at him, he pops it in his hands. The explosion silences the room._

_The Orgasm likeness._ **My** _orgasm likeness. Maker, he fucking did not!_

_His grin is far too big._

_I stare at Anders with bulging eyes and a burning face before I hide in my arms right there at the table. When I dare to peek, Anders is gone. Explaining to my husband and his band of merry tempters doesn’t make it any easier for me._

 

 

_I don’t know how to stop it. The more I feel, the more I think about him. The more I think about him, the more I feel._

_I even pretended it was Anders, one night. I closed my eyes and bit my pillow, and imagined the ginger King thrusting from behind was instead my mage. I swear on my fucking life it felt better because of it._

_But in the morning, it is not Anders in my bed._

_Strong warm arms, tender words, and a bushy beard remind me long ago I married a man who loved me for me. Even when there was no hope of building a family together. Then, I love Alistair. I love how he holds me and talks to me. He goes over his plans for the day. Strokes my face, sends tingles to the tips of my toes with each kiss. Says he couldn’t be a more lucky man._

_Then tea with Anders and Nathaniel draws the line. When I am with Anders, Alistair is a faraway life in a faraway realm._

_Only I am not at liberty to do what I want with Anders._

 

 

_Outside past the gardens, this far from the Keep, it’s easier to tell if Wardens approach. Easier than inside the Keep. With Alistair here, it’s impossible to tell if approaching Taint is him or not. By the time we feel Taint closing in, the Warden is close enough to see us. Not that I will risk kissing Anders - or more - where we can be seen; there are always unnoticed, gossiping servants. But the little things we’ve gotten away with out here so far away from the Keep… lingering hands, excuses to touch, soft banter hinting sex… Alistair would be furious. Especially since I thought he had a mistress._

_Today we are lucky. We’re breaking for water when another’s Taint brings a low hum to our veins. We stand innocent, and… almost out of reach._

_“What in the world are you doing?” Anders huffs a laugh at Nathaniel._

_My cousin drags a practice dummy, a folded archery target, and a shovel. His bow and a full quiver rest at his back, and a few purses bulge at his waist. “Trying to get away from Alistair. He won’t stop talking to me like I’m Zevran or Pádraig.”_

_A snort sprays my water half on Anders. With Anders’ grinning and Nathaniel trying not to, I try to compose myself. I wipe my mouth and take a deep breath, and smooth my shirt for good measure. “Cousin, I_ **apologize** _for the King_ **propositioning** _you.”_

_Anders throws his head back in a hearty laugh. “Oh, Andraste! He didn’t!”_

_“Yes. Laugh it up, Anders.” Nathaniel glares at him as he walks by. The target stands drag stir fresh dirt over the grass like a walkway from the Keep. “I’m tired of my ass being the center of attention. I don’t know how you lived with them all at once.” He shakes his head and drops the targets. I try not to smile when he looks at me. Nathaniel shakes his head again, a smile spreading as he looks away. “I’d rather catch_ **you** _two in whatever grope than know my_ **ass** _is being watched at all times.” He shudders and shoves the shovel head into the ground._

_“There’s nothing going on here, Nathaniel,” Anders says, gentle and assuring. For the moment, true enough._

_Nathaniel turns the shovel and pries. The breeze carries the scent of moist soil and broken grass blades to my nose. “Don’t insult me, Anders.” He shoots a glare over. “We all lie on her bed together. We've spent four straight months together. I know you two like the back of my hand.”_

_I glance towards the Keep. It’s too far away to see if anyone watches from the shade. No one in view other than the gardeners doesn’t mean anything._

_“Did Alistair say anything?” I ask._

_Nathaniel shakes his head. “Not much. He asked once, a few days ago. When you ripped off half your shirt, Anders. He asked me what sort of training involves feeling up the instructor.” He rams his heel on end of the shovel head._

_I dare myself to look at Anders. He wants to smile, to assure me. I see it. But his eyes glint sadness again._

_Another reminder nothing can ever go beyond what we do in training._

_“What did you tell him?” Anders voices what I cannot._

_“I said I was the wrong person to ask. I don’t know a thing about magic other than it fucking hurts sometimes. And_ **you** _have had an influence on my_ **tongue,** _cousin.” Nathaniel frowns in concentration as he digs._

 _“You keep your tongue_ **away** _from my student, you hear me?” Anders smirk gives way to a rolling laugh. “I have such a dirty mind, I’m so sorry.” His eyes twinkle at me before humor fades. “Maker, that was so out of place.”_

_Nathaniel’s grimace of amusement disappears when he glances at me. “I reminded-” He grunts with another stomp on the shovel. “-Alistair, cousin, you are a special case and your magic-” He clears a last clump of dirt and lets the shovel fall. “-probably can’t be approached the normal way. Whatever that is.” Nathaniel grabs the dummy and stands it in the fresh hole._

_“It can’t.” Anders shakes his head. “But so far, so good. I haven’t been set on fire yet, this time.” I wince at him, remembering when I doused him in flames in the bailey. He smiles at me; for me. I think it’s a happy memory for him._

_“He didn’t bring it up again, and I didn’t want to make a scene of it. But I expect he’ll be less suspicious with me out here.” Nathaniel fills in the hole around the dummy stand. His hand waves us. “Continue your unconventional magic groping lesson and pretend I’m not here.” He pauses and lifts his head, then looks at us. “No, do_ **not** _pretend I’m not here. There are some things I_ **do not** _want to see.”_

 _Anders grins. “If I_ **do** _it right, you won’t know I’ve done anything at_ **all** _till it’s too late.” He laughs at my wide eyes and Nathaniel’s noise of incredulity. “Well, now that I’ve piqued your interest, shall we continue?” he asks me._

 

 

_Even with Nathaniel here to remind us we’re never alone, lessons aren’t effective. Not in the sense of honing my magic. We get less carried away than before with simple touching. Less lingering. Sometimes. Except our eyes._

**Those** _get better at lingering._

 _Anders has me try to summon my magic the same way he did, the way I first recalling bringing it to life. Not the way Alistair’s Templar training requires me. Anders says magic from lyrium - Templar talents - and magic from the body are two different things. I have both, he says it’s in me blood_ **and** _soul now; I cannot treat it as a single source. He tells me to_ **will** _it like I did before, try to bring it up to one hand. Something small, the easiest thing I can conjure. It’s not easy, though. I’m so used to agonizing Templar practices I don’t quite remember how I first discovered my - the Archdemon's - magic._

_Anders walks around me as I try, observing from a distance. Trying frustrates me at first, but he is patient and his voice soothing when I need it. I close my eyes, breathe to the beat of Nathaniel loosing arrows. Focus on my hand, how it opens and contracts. Gentle fingers press on my face. I look at Anders. He encourages me to not to give up. He’s here to help. When I close my eyes and breathe again, and his thumbs press again, I realize Anders is adjusting me. Smoothing tension lines from my face. One hand presses on my back while he tilts my chin, straightening my spine. He moves around me. Rolls my shoulders, squaring them in line with my back, wiggles my other arm till it rests loose. He braces my hips to move my legs._

_His fingers trail my inner thigh and steal my breath. I don’t dare look. I don’t trust myself not to move his hand farther up if I know where to reach. I know he feels my thigh tighten beneath his touch. He sits there for a while. Tickles me to feel my thigh clench; he knows it’s not only my thigh clenching. Anders laughs when I tell him, short of breath, this isn’t helping me relax._

_Turning his back to us, Nathaniel says we need to work on our discretion._

_Today, not lingering is failing._

_Anders stands behind me. Holding my other shoulder, he traces the arm I mean to will my mana to - starting at my waist. His fingertips send a shimmer through my skin. Grazes up, behind my bosom, along my shoulder blade, drawing another shudder. He exhales over my shoulder. Turning to see him put his face against mine, and Anders surrenders to the moment again._

_A soft mouth hangs open at my cheek. Hot breath steams my skin clear into my ear; he squeezes my shoulder when I gasp. His nose caresses my temple, nuzzling me before moving his head. Anders inhales me, the scent of my hair. His other hand circles up over my shoulder. Weaves his fingers around my arm, tracing the path of mana I haven’t been able to summon yet. His lips flatten against my cheek._

_Maker help me, I can’t concentrate with him doing this, but I don’t want him to stop._

_His eyelashes sweep open at my temple. From the corner of my eye, he searches me. Breath devours him at my back. Anders folds my arm in, turning his head to meet my hand in a kiss._

_“Breathe,” he whispers, guiding my arm back out. “Breathe with me.”_

_Easier done than said, for once. His chest pushes against me from behind with deep, even breath when he almost made me forget how. His breath guides me. He brings a hand around and pushes under my ribs, wants me to breathe from here; my diaphragm. Focus on my hand, on_ **our** _hands. Pretend, he says. Try to set his hand aflame, try to pass it to him. Pretend it’s a ball - or a sheep’s bladder; he giggles with me - I roll through my body into his hand._

 _Easier to will a ball, easy to picture it, easier to gather. Pulsing as it moves up and grows to fill my chest. He braces my ribs as the pressure bursts into my arm like a crashing wave. Presses me against him. His aura pulses back to me when he clenches; anticipation, excitement. Eager. He reminds me to breathe, keep it going. Keep pushing, don’t hold it in, let it out, let it fly, show the world who I am. Show_ **him** _who I am. Breath flees in a hard gasp as my hand roars to life with a bright blue flame. Anders shudders against me with a smile._

_Nathaniel beyond pauses his bow to stare._

_I did it. I really fucking did it. My mouth stretches across my face and my eyes water. No frustrating attempts to visualize the Maker’s hand in the sky, no tear-jerking demands I get it right because What If. I turn my head. Pride. Admiration. Anders radiates at me. Any doubt of it being_ **my** _flame disappears as his hand chills at my wrist. Frost crawls from his fingers, climbs up my hand like tiny diamonds in the sun, crystallizing along my fire like a frozen dance. It’s beautiful. His magic glitters and holds as mine licks the sky._

_“Good job,” he praises before planting his lips on my cheek again._

_Turning his back once more, Nathaniel shakes his head and warns again about discretion._

 

 

_Training on a sudden is easy. I now know how to pull what simmers inside of me to the surface. Intent, Anders reminds me, is half the magic; pun intended. Once I know how to harness my mana, all I need now is to decide. He shows me examples of the spells he uses most when we’re in combat. Lets me touch his primed hands to feel how each spell should feel. He doesn’t judge me for wanting to learn elementary skills first._

_While Nathaniel votes for me to learn things like coating a floor in ice for a skating field, Anders insists beginner spells are wise. A basic fire spell can keep an enemy at bay, and a basic healing spell can keep me from death. Fire is easy, frost is easy. Fucking spirit fire like the Archdemon uses is even easy. The only thing that's hard is healing. I can’t manage healing. Anders nicks his finger, but when I can’t bring the right magic up, he has me try on myself. Only a pinprick… I can’t even stop one tiny swell of blood. I can’t clear my head to imagine broken flesh weaving back together. I see the blood and all I can think of is clashing swords and yelling and_ **more** _bleeding. What I expect and can't un-expect from blood only makes it bleed more._

 _Anders curls up my bleeding finger with his. Assures me, as he heals our hands as one, that I don’t need to try if trying harries me._ **My** _talents don't need to be_ **his.** _I don’t **need** _to be a Healer._ “That’s what you have _ **me** _for,” he reminds me. Anders wants me to be_ **me.** _Use my_ **own** _strengths. Simple as that._

 

_Training with Alistair is the opposite of training with Anders. My husband pushes me. Hard. The Blight - and his childhood - taught us Learn Now or Die. I know that still frightens him, but that way doesn’t work for me anymore. He insists on me perfecting a Holy Smite. Insists it’s the best way for me to use my magic. It comes so easy for him, he calls them forth in an instant; as it takes Anders no time to summon an area spell. But I’ve never been good at Templar skills. Alistair grew up learning how; I struggled sometimes all day when he tried to teach me. His patience thins after an hour of little result._

_Two turns of the sun and nothing but a small cleansing energy wave is not good enough for my husband right now. He thinks I’m not trying. Alistair thinks I’m not trying because I’m afraid I’ll hurt him. His voice escalates and echoes around the inner bailey. He’s worried about this chasm of collapsed Deep Roads, he tells me to remember what the_ **other** _Deep Roads did to us. Pressures me to learn to protect myself in case he can’t, down there. It only makes it harder for me. Things I never wanted to remember fly to the front of my mind. Golems, flying rock, lava, traps that jerked my blood right out through my skin. Nightmares Alistair lost himself in and yelled at_ **me** _for trying to stop. I can’t. My eyes blur everything and I’m aware my feet are moving backwards. But Alistair still insists._ **Yells** _when I don’t answer him. I blink and wipe my eyes in time to see a column of light form before me._

 _A watery wall projects in my face, so sudden I think it’s my tears at first. The impact of Alistair’s Smite rumbles the ground below me with flying dirt and ground cover, shattering the barrier. Anders scrambles to his feet and throws another shimmery wall between me and Alistair. Shock of realizing what my husband did_ **to me** _makes it hard to breathe. My knees give out and the ground rushes towards me with force that spills my tears._ **“What** _is fucking_ **wrong** _with you?!” Anders cries out._

 _“I’m_ **teaching** _my_ **wife.** _This doesn’t concern you.”_ _Alistair is blurry from here, but I make out his arms extending in another motion. A rush of light on the ground dissipates the barrier. He’s Cleansing Anders' spell from the area._

 _Anders erects a thicker, darker wall in front of me. “Alistair,_ **stop!** _She’s_ **struggling!** _She’s_ **not ready! It’s not worth it!** _Let her do it on_ **her** _time. And you_ **don’t** _need to_ **yell** _at her! There’s_ **another way** _that_ **doesn’t** _require you_ **attacking** _her. That’s_ **not** _the way to get people to_ **protect** _themselves!”_

 _“It doesn’t work like that in the Deep Roads, mage._ **Demons** _and_ **blood magic** _traps and_ **Blight** _mages_ **thrive** _in the Deep Roads. If she doesn’t learn this now, she_ **can’t protect** _herself there. Stranded women become_ **broodmothers** _in the Deep Roads!” Alistair lets loose a blue cloud that moves through me faster than I can blink and robs me so hard of breath it hurts. My throat feels too small. I can’t hold myself up. It’s like he flattened my lungs. Squeezed so hard my eyes bulge and block my tears. When air returns like barbs and I can move again, Anders is recovering on his knees with a gasp. His hand clutches his chest and his jaw is tight. It got him too._

_The vague cloud of strained mana is gone from my body. It feels like a distant wisp of smoke. I can't even try to heal myself._

_Alistair Drained us. He fucking_ **Drained** _us. Maker, I had no idea these hurt so bad! How do they call this Righteous?_

 _“You_ **think** _I would_ **let** _that happen?”_ _Anders challenges with a broken voice. He staggers to his feet. “You think_ **any** _of us here would just_ **let** _them drag her off?” He gestures away. Nathaniel stands with a hard face and an arrow aimed at Alistair._

 _“No more than we would let_ **you Smite** _her again,” Nathaniel promises. Alistair takes one look at Nathaniel and turns, shaking his head like they don’t understand. “We are_ **not** _in the Deep Roads and_ **nothing** _is trying to drag her away. King or not,_ I _will_ **shoot** _you if you hurt her again.”_

_With another violent gasp, Anders turns to me. He hurts. Hurts for both of us. His eyes apologize when he can’t do it out loud right now. He reaches down and helps me up, gentle and firm for me to lean on. Anders lets his chest quake and face scrunch to keep his arms steady for me._

_I’m afraid to touch him. Afraid to hold on. Alistair’s already scared enough of something not in sight that he’s willing to Smite me now to stop worse later. What if he thinks Anders is taking me away, too? Can Alistair discern Anders from darkspawn right now?_

_Anders asks if I’m hurt, but Alistair speaks before I can reply._

**“I** _need her to_ **learn** _this. There are_ **no** _guarantees we’ll be able to stop them if they want a new broodmother,” Alistair says. Dark and determined. “I_ **need** _to know my wife can get_ **out** _of there if something happens to the rest of us.”_

 _Anders turns back to my husband, keeping me behind him. “So_ **why** _must she be a_ **Templar** _for that? Did you_ **forget** _she’s also a_ **rogue?** **Why** _cant you be happy letting her do what works for_ **her?”**

 _“Because she_ **needs** _to_ **know** _this! A_ **Smite** _can save her_ **life!”** _Alistair stresses._

 _“And_ **so** _can a shard of ice or a_ **mind** _blast. I’ve been_ **teaching** _her that! She can_ **do** _those!_ **What’s** _wrong with her being a_ **mage? Why** _must she be a_ **Templar?”** _he repeats._

 _“She’s_ **not** _a mage, Anders._ **My wife** _was_ **never** _a mage! The_ **Archdemon** _did that to her! It_ **doesn’t make** _her a_ **mage.”**

 _“Well she_ **is now!”** _Anders attests. “Are you_ **really** _willing to risk her life with a_ **Holy Smite?** _Because she’s_ **changed?** _Because the_ **Archdemon** _changed her?” Anders paces, raking both hands through his hair. He’s still catching his breath from Alistair’s Drain. “You can’t_ **Smite** _the magic_ **out** _of her, Alistair. It’s_ **part** _of her, it’s_ **who she is.** **Why** _are you trying to take her_ **away** _from herself?”_

 _Ohh, Andraste! As if I wasn’t crying already. I’ve struggle with this with Alistair for_ **how** _long? Not the magic part, but him trying to keep from being fully me. It’s why I was so upset at my guard keeping Alistair’s lie. They don’t trust me to know how to handle things myself. Alistair doesn’t trust me to take care of myself. He’d rather keep me dependent on a half-truth than let me prove myself against reality. Every huge fight Alistair and I have have stems down to him not trusting me with my own methods. He_ **always** _needs me to stay someone he can predict._

 _When I took lyrium every few hours and raged when it wore off, I needed controlling. But that was_ **years** _ago. Even before the other Deep Roads._

_“Let it go, Alistair. Training is done for the night.” Nathaniel keeps his bow on Alistair though._

_Alistair stares at me. He’s frightened. I see that. But he didn’t even stop to think what it would do to me first. He Smote me. He Drained me and I didn’t think I’d breathe again. He seems aware he frightened me or made me nervous, but that is it. I don’t think he knows how bad he hurts me sometimes. Or he believes the risks of hurting me outweigh the worst possibilities._

_Like he told me during my first relapse early on in the Blight: Sometimes you cage wild animals to keep them from hurting themselves._

_I hate that he thinks of me like that. No matter how much he loves me, this idea of caging me_ **for my own good** _has ruled our entire life together._

_Alistair gives in after a long moment. In defeat, he drags his feet past us. Nathaniel does not lower his bow until Alistair is out of sight._

 

_I’m not sure how the night ended. Nathaniel brought my dog in, Anders made tea. When they arrived in my room, I couldn’t move from the wall. Curled up and crying so hard I couldn’t stop shaking and gasping. Someone pulled me away from the wall… and I don’t remember. I woke up on my bed with Anders asleep on his arms by my feet, and Nathaniel sleeping propped against Po on the rug._

 

 

_Alistair catches me in the hall before midday. He wants to apologize, and talk. Anders and Nathaniel are reluctant, but the pleading on my husband’s face sways me. That tail-between-his-legs look. We sit on the edge of my bed and he admits his trepidation. Preparing for a Deep Roads expedition we may not even need to take reminds him of the other Deep Roads. The dwarven Paragon Caridin, his golems. Needing to turn Oghren's ex-wife Branka into a golem to save ourselves. And it didn’t even save us. We were dying down there. I remember Alistair trying to say his marriage vows one last time because we had run out of time. If not for our unexpected rescue on Teagan’s orders, we would have died starving and swollen from injury in a ruined thaig no living dwarf knew existed. My husband apologizes to me, but it is not enough._

_He scared me. I tell him so. Frightened me more than I know how to explain. I tell him what his Drain did to me and Anders. I remind my husband he was so intent on saving me from a journey that might not happen that he did as Anders said: Alistair risked my life. Holy Smites can kill a mage; if a fucking Drain itself doesn’t do it. Whether Alistair likes it or not, I am a mage now - the better I get at spells, the more it is proved. He can’t antagonize me to use Templar talents when it takes more that I have in me. I don’t want to do that again. Not if trying to learn Templar powers means reliving nightmares I’m only now starting to recover from._

_I tell him Anders was right about the whole thing. Alistair can’t keep me from my_ **whole** _self in fear_ **part** _of me can’t protect myself. Everyone has a weakness, but protecting myself in battle has never been a weakness for me. “I’m not a wild animal who can’t bare her teeth without bleeding herself. I cage myself enough as it is. I_ **need you** _to let me do what_ **I’m** _able to, and_ **trust** _me to_ **survive** _it.”_

_Horrified at himself for the pain his Drain caused yesterday, and ashamed for letting his fear cloud his judgement, Alistair sighs a decision. My husband is letting me alone today, giving me space. It’s not that he doesn’t trust me with myself, he just doesn’t want me to worry. “I don’t want you to worry about the Deep Roads, but in case I can’t save you again…” He wants me to be happy, he would rather worry for me about everything if it means watching me smile every day. But he never knew trying to keep me from worrying constricted me so much. He doesn’t want me afraid of him, or resenting him. He doesn’t want me to choose between my husband or my cousin and friends - people who stepped in at their own risk to protect me. Alistair is leaving tomorrow to check on my brother the Regent, and he wants to have dinner with me alone before he goes. But today, he’ll leave me be. He says do what I need to forget yesterday happened. He buries his face in my shoulder for a moment, then kisses my cheek and disappears into the hall._

_I don’t know what’s happening to my life anymore. I never thought I would want to move on from my husband. Or_ **need** _to, to find the_ **rest** _of me._

_The Keep is quiet today. Servants Alistair and I brought from Denerim stay busy readying him and the elite guard for the return home. I insist they all go. I would like a quiet Keep again. As in, no more than my handful of Wardens; the people willing to stand up to a King for me._

_I walk by myself for a while. Storm clouds loom in the distance, heralding with a cool breeze that whips fallen leaves and dust up from the ground. The place Alistair Smote me has been raked, tossed, and is part of even ground again. I walk through the bailey and past the outer gates. Past the gardens. Out to Nathaniel’s targets._

_Where Anders has been helping me to learn what my magic is capable of._

_Such contrast between Anders and my husband. Alistair demands learning out of fear of loss. I don’t remember him doing this during the Blight. Anders teaches me how to recognize what’s in myself so I know what I have available to work with. Anders praises my progress, doesn’t make me strain my limits. Alistair pushes and pushes to ensure success._

_Alistair used to be like Anders is._

_Except Anders gives me more freedom with my own choices than Alistair ever did. Anders doesn’t need me to live within his limits to be happy with my decisions. He seems happiest if I live within my_ **own** _limits._

_Being given that much freedom pulls at my heart in ways I never knew possible._

_Taint seeps into range with a welcome face. Anders walks across the field toward me. Hands in his pockets, loose shirt waving against him outlining his chest and arms. Hair not tied back flies behind him as he walks against the wind. Anders looks too good to be real. Like he doesn’t belong in this time with all this drama around the Keep. His eyes only leave me to glance down at the orange tabby darting around his feet._

_“You’re out here alone.”_

_“Not anymore.” I search him._

_A smile plays on his lips. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days. I think stubble suits him. “Did you come out to practice?” How is he so_ **beautiful?**

_“No. I…” I look away to breathe. “I came to escape.”_

_“Escape?” he echoes. I hear the concern in his voice. Feel it in the way he cocks his head to get a better look at me._

_I nod. “Being there when Al… when_ **he’s** _there is…_ **hard** _right now. This is my safe space. Out_ **here** _is my safe space,” I say. “Where life is like a… another world. My_ **safe** _other world.”_

_Anders is quiet for a while. I feel his eyes roam, study. Read. “Am I part of that? Your safe space? Or would you like me to leave?” he asks. I look at him._

_No one’s ever asked me that before._

**Alistair** _always assumes_ **he’s** _my safe space._

_How is Anders so perfect?_

_He smiles when I hold out my hand for him. He curls our arms up between us while he pulls me in by the back of my head. His lips are warm against my forehead._

_“Can I take you to the creek?” he asks. “It’s peaceful there. Unless you count Ser Pounce-a-Lot tormenting the minnows. And that day all the mabari decided it was time for a swim.” His lips push against my forehead again when I smile._

_He’s right. It’s peaceful here. Stray orchard trees have shed most their blooms and speckle branches with fruit set. The creek is like a small river after all the spring showers. Flowering ground cover and moss line the creekside, woven around pebbles like someone arranged them. Downhill, the creek meets Hafter river. The ground here declines enough to hide most the Keep._

_We are safe here. This is a good spot._

_The sun blares upon me when I sit. I smooth my gown around my legs, flicking bits of flower seeds the wind has blown on me. “Did Nathaniel leave yet?” I ask. My cousin volunteered to hunt supper._

_“Yes.” Anders reaches up into a nearby tree. “But he wants boar, when Cook planned for quail. And… well, you know him like I do.”_

_I nod. “He’ll try to get both. Which means we’ll have to hunt him down after dark. Again. After Cauley improvises with bread and cheese.”_

_“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain again this time.” Anders smiles as he sits. He leans over, bringing a pale pink blossom up to my ear. His fingers warm my ear and cheek while he ties the flower in. “The center of this flower reminds me of your_ **face** _when I brought that_ **bladder** _to lunch.”_

 **“Maker!”** _I breathe, feeling my face flush again. He giggles hard against me. Squeezes my shoulders, rubs my arms._

_Brushes his lips on my skin as he sits back._

_I love the way he looks at me. Like I’m a flower, or fine art. Or a bed, a roaring hearth, and hot tea after a long day. His eyes wander to my mouth when he thumbs the corner of my lips. He looks like he feels hopeless. “I guess it’s pretty obvious, now, isn’t it? After what I said to him yesterday.”_

_I think back to his words. To that event. Anders put himself in danger to keep me from getting hurt. He may be right. It may be obvious now my training has been more than training. I don’t think it will matter we never meant for it to turn out like it did._

_If the past couple weeks hadn’t happened… but then would he even have said all that to Alistair?_

_“Do you believe everything happens for a reason?” I ask._

_“Since I came here, I’m starting to.” Anders nods. I watch him. His hair is golden in this early summer sun. The breeze dances loose strands out like they want him to leave with it. I reach over and tuck tufts of hair back behind his ear. Anders stares like I am the only thing worth looking at. “If you never… needed a new womb, would you have lived the life that led you to becoming a Grey Warden? If the Blight never happened and you not ma-- married Alistair,” he looks away when he says it. The concept is hard to deal with, now. For both of us. Especially after yesterday. “Would you be Warden-Commander now? If_ **I** _never grew up … with_ **reason** _to escape the Circle, would I have met you at all? If you weren’t Warden-Commander and Queen, would you have entered that mine with a mage who prides himself on healing? If you weren’t a_ **noble** _who became a_ **mage** _by killing the Archdemon, would… these past months with you ever have existed?” His head leans. He looks sad._

_I’ve wondered the same. Since my boys followed me to Blackmarsh, everything has been wonderful. Even with the injuries, I don’t know what I’d do without these memories._

_Anders shakes his head in doubt. “Would the two weeks_ **out here** _have happened?” his voice isn’t as strong. Even more than our memories traveling together, I don’t want_ **this** _to not be real._

 _I pause. I agree with a heavy heart with everything. But I hate being sad. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want_ **Anders** _to hurt. He feels sad for me so often. In what sounds in my head like a lame and fruitless attempt to make him smile, I nod and try to look serious. I hope I look like I’ll add something of equal weight. “If I’d not climbed an Archdemon on a hundred-sixty-three foot tower-” I try not to smile as he looks at me “-would you have popped a sheep’s bladder when I was_ **surrounded** _by people?”_

 _Anders laughs, leaning, clutching my hand to his chest. His eyes crinkle, dimples livening his beautiful face. “That was_ **peerless** **,** _though! You should have seen your face!” He adores that memory._

 _Giggles wane too soon. The scene with Alistair yesterday shook the aura of the whole house. Anders is right. I think suspicions Alistair tried to deny came to fruit when Anders said he would not let darkspawn take me. When he insisted I’m perfect as a mage. The whole Keep now knows the Queen has a… That_ **Anders** _is the…_ **paramour** _of the_ **Queen.**

 _They’ll never look at him the same anymore. He’ll_ **always** _be the Queen’s paramour._

 **Why** _must I be_ **Queen?** _I_ **hate** _titles and_ **duty** _and things that dictate what_ **Must Be** _for the fate of people who don’t want to associate with fate._

_I watch Ser Pounce-a-Lot explore the creek. Not so little anymore. Braving each new stretch of world he discovers by following Anders around. Unaware of his privilege in life. Cats don’t know how lucky they have it. No titles. No rules. No one tells them who they can’t be or who they can’t love. They aren’t expected to be anything other than cats. Ser Pounce-a-Lot has more freedom than any of us._

_Anders holds my hand in his lap. Both his hands cradle and caress. His warmth bleeds through my skin like he is a blanket. I watch his fingers. Watch his thumbs press and ghost. Massage. He lifts my hand and bends his neck, lips puckered to meet my fingertips. Anders closes his eyes and holds my palm to his face, and breathes._

_“I’m sorry I can’t heal your heart.” He looks at me. “That’s the one thing I can’t ever heal.” He pauses, eyes drifting. “The best I can do is… give you part of_ **mine,** _and… hope it fills in the cracks. No matter what happens to it in the end.”_

_My eyes blur. Before I can argue myself, I throw my arms around him and kiss him. Anders doesn’t move for a moment._

_Then he sighs beneath me. Deep. Concerned._

_Was this a mistake? I don’t know what to do. I put my forehead on his and… stay there. Hang on him. I just want to stay here for a moment. Having kissed him once. To hold him like I want just once._

_He searches me. Watches my eyes. I think I see the same wish in his eyes. I hope? I pray everything has been real._

_His fingers glide on my face. Like every day these past weeks, his touch spreads through my skin like the sun on a windy day, leaving a trail that stays long after his hand moves. With a wince that says he may regret it later, Anders breathes full again, and tilts his head._

_His lips take my breath. Pushes against my mouth slow, lingers, feeling every kiss. Meaning every kiss. Like he wants to make sure I enjoy this too. Warm and tender, waking every part of me every time his lips plant. I can’t stop trembling. It didn’t feel like this when I did it first, but when he kisses me, I can’t keep air. He holds me. Caressing down my back, memorizing how I fit beneath his hand. Like we have all the time in the world and no one waiting to reprimand us. He’s sweet. Skin smells sweet, his breath is sweet. His tongue taste like river plums. I can’t taste him enough, can’t tighten my arms enough. I can’t get near enough. The other arm closes around me, pulling me, holding me so close I squish against him. My hips rock and I can’t stop them. A moan breaks breaks in his throat, his fingers push and tickle my skin till I make my own sounds. He chases each noise, lips hastening, letting himself stray. His mouth is hot and eager against me. I thread my fingers through his hair, tangle them in his locks as I push the tie off. Pull his head closer to mine, kiss him harder. Ready for him. Rake my nails as I push him on his back. Anders shivers through a kiss._

_He stares with me. Searching my eyes. His chest heaves beneath me, pushing me up and down. He shines. Anders beams like a man struck by abundance when he needed it most. Victorious in vulnerability. He leans up to kiss me again, and again, eyes finding me each time our lips break. Keeps me in his arms. Desire flashes in a wince when my hips roll again. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to. I want to be as close to him as I can._

_He has but to try. To slip his fingers beneath my clothes, and he can have me. Here, now. Even where we can be spied upon. I will give him what I can. Forever, if this dream doesn’t have to stay a dream._

_It’s impossible. Nothing can come from this and anything that does will never last. It can’t. He knows it. I know it. Anders says we’ll never be able to do more than this, especially now that my womb works. As long as he has today to look back on… This moment makes every Impossible worth it._ **Everything.** _The good, the bad. The future heartache, future loneliness. Right now, right here in my arms has already made it all worth it. He says I saved him._

 _I can’t stop shaking. I can’t breathe as fast as I need air._ **He** _did this. This man who spent the last month and half learning me inside and out. Emotion so strong my eyes leak. Overwhelming, consuming. Shielding me from the world while drowning me in another. I don’t want him to let go. I fear I’ll float away if he does._

_I think I love him._

 

 

 

_It’s quiet. Unpleasant. Alistair stares at me from across our little table. I don’t look at my husband. I don’t speak. But he stares. And his aura is pining._

_He knows something’s wrong._

_“So…” Alistair swirls the wine in his goblet. “We’ll leave after tea,” he tells me. I already know. “I’ll stay for a week, sort out what Fergus can’t.” He pauses. “You could go_ **with** _me, Tess.”_

_I raise my eyes._

_“Grab more clothes. Your favorite soaps?”_

_I’m not sure if he’s reminding or begging. “I’m not ready to go back,” my voice is small._

_“Not even for a week?” he asks._

_I shake my head. “I finally feel at_ **home,** _Alistair. I would_ **like** _to_ **stay** _here.”_

_A deep breath full of pain shakes him. He’s trying not to cry. “All right,” his voice cracks. “I would still like to go with you to Knotwood Hills. Just in case." He watches me stare at him. "Is that all right?” he asks._

_I nod. It will be awkward and frustrating. I don’t know why I’m agreeing._

_No. Yes I do. Because if I deny him and something horrible happens, and I don’t return…_

_I don’t hate my husband. It just hurts and I want something new. Something that doesn’t hurt._

**Someone** _that doesn’t hurt me. Even on accident. Even when he means to protect me._

 _“When…” Alistair looks away, then takes a long drink. “When we’re down there…_ **if** _we need to go down there,” he adds, “Will you consider coming back home with me?” He looks at me again. “After all this is over and we deal with whatever needs dealt with. Will you consider coming home then? Tess?”_

_“I don’t know. I can’t answer that right now, Alistair.” I shake my head again._

_He forces a smile, nodding. “All right.” He takes a long, deep breath. His hands shake and he hides them under the table. “Not the answer I hoped for. But all right.” A less than steady hand clanks his goblet on his teeth. “Then… before I turn in for the night, I just… I want you to know I’ll be_ **waiting.”** _He tries to hold his gaze. “I’ll be ready for the day you… decide to be married again. When you decide to be married to_ **me,** _again.” He winces._

_He knows. Alistair knows about me and Anders. My husband knows I kissed Anders._

_I’m not prepared for this. For any of it. For feeling left behind and lied to. For falling out of love with my husband then falling back in. Then falling in love with someone else. I’m not prepared for how much it hurts. How much it hurts not only me, but others. Anders and my husband._

_My_ **husband. Mine.** _I_ **married** _him. I_ **wanted** _to marry him. More than love, for broken or sewn, inside and out. For the rest of my days._

 _But_ **I’m** _the one who broke that._

 _Alistair nods. “When you’re ready again, I’m here.” He pushes up from his chair. “I’ll let you get back to the night.” He walks around and leans down. Plants a tender kiss on my cheek. “Good night, Tess. I more than love you._ **Always.”** _His breath catches with a small noise and stabs my heart. I try to hold still until his footsteps disappear._

_Here is Alistair. Loving me so much he is willing to let me live away from him to make me happy. Willing to be a man I can come home to at the end of the day… or whenever. Willing to wait for the day when other interests fade from my life._

_Willing to wait to see if I ever love him again._

_I push to make a clearing and bury my flooding face in my arms._

_I was not prepared for this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	21. Enchantment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Vigil's Keep to themselves, skins shed and walls come down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Between the Raindrops, by Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG6-bU6esKo)

_The morning is good. Better than good._

_We did nothing productive all yesterday. No responsibilities. No chance of walking into someone whom things need hiding from. I even asked Seneschal Varel to call me Commander; not Your Majesty. I get to be_ **different** _now. I don’t have to be Wife of the King this week. I fell asleep last night to Anders voice at my ear, and though I woke up alone, it was still good._ **Sublime.**

 _Today, I got to wake up how_ **I** _wanted._

 _It feels good to_ **feel good** _again._

_When I can’t sleep, my mabari can’t sleep. Po pads through the halls with me. I steal into the kitchen, grab meat for Po and carrots for my horse, then we tiptoe along the carpets out the front doors. The sky has only begun to gray. It’s quiet. The chill before dawn hasn’t ebbed yet, the birds not woken yet. Plum nickers as we approach the stables, awake and ready like we scheduled to be up before the rest of the world. Out past the growing crops, out of sight of the bailey grounds, past the flower gardens. Po and Plum play through the land like they aren’t different creatures. Right now, Amaranthine is ours._

_I feel amazing. Free. And despite the odds of staying so, loved. It feels like the morning is meant for me today._

_Dew dots the ground like nature’s freckles. Even now when the sky is still gray, different angles bring different reflections of light. Realizing I can bring each dew drop up at eye level without popping its form is another incredible feat. I think of my parents, my nephew. I wonder what they would think of my new talent? I can almost see the glee on Oren’s little face when I move dew through the air. Almost hear his laugh. “Auntie! Do it again! Use the whole river this time!” Then Oriana would sigh “Sometimes, Fergus, your family causes me great strain.” I giggle aloud._

_For the first time, it does not hurt to think of them. I’m glad I still have my memories. I’m glad to still see their faces._

_It stays with me. Moves when I move, even if I don’t direct it with my hands. It stays where I want it to stay. Intent is half the magic, as Anders says. I’m still speechless_ **I** _can do this. It’s not just a weapon I can throw back, I’m not_ **just** _a rune anymore. When I stand straight and breathe to the rising sun, the dew moves with my breath. It’s_ **part** _of me. I never guessed I would enjoy magic this much. Dew drops glitter through the air while I bend and push; Anders’ stretches and my own; while I try to thank the world for this new life it’s given me. I’ve never felt more part of the land beneath my toes and the air around me. Never felt more connected to the rising sun on my face. To_ **life.**

_“Good morning,” I greet the approaching Taint._

_“Good morning.” Anders. My mouth stretches at his voice. “Your empty bed worried us for a moment. We almost thought you’d been kidnapped,” he teases._

_“Oh, no. If anyone tries that, you’ll know. Their brains will be all over the place.”_

_Anders chuckles. I can almost hear his nose crinkle in disgust._

_He’s silent for a moment. I feel him watch as I move. He doesn’t come into view unless I turn. Every glimpse I catch is sweet and admiring. Proud. He smiles when the dew drops rotate with me._

_“Your magic is beautiful,” he tells me._

_“Is it still my magic when I use the water outside me?”_

_“Like the dew?” he guesses. “Of course.” He raises a hand and swirls the drops around, turning them to create more glitter. “What’s inside you moves it. That’s what makes it beautiful.” He catches my eye with a sweet smile, then looks over again, swells his mana to his other hand. One hand bursts the dew drops, the other curves them in the air. A brilliant rainbow shimmers on the mist and steals my breath. Though the colors fade as the mist falls, for a moment I can only stare. I didn’t know that was possible._

_Breath returns as I look at Anders, and he smiles wider. I must look like a child at Satinalia. I don’t even find words to ask how he did it. When I turn my head to seek the rainbow again, frost sprinkles the air. I glance to see Anders’ hands moving again. Ice crystals break apart like a thousand glistening diamonds before turning into another mist of colors. I feel like a toddler the way it makes me grin and giggle._

_“Magic can be breathtaking,” Anders says. “I wish the world could see magic like yours. Maybe they wouldn’t be so afraid of mages.”_

_“My magic is hardly beautiful,” I say. I gesture where_ **his** _rainbow was a moment ago._

 _Anders stares, searches me. “You don’t need to make rainbows for it to be beautiful.” He smiles for me. “That was just a little trick to make a beautiful_ _woman smile at me.”_

_His little joke pricks my heart though. “You make me smile when you don’t do tricks, too.”_

_I understand the way he searches me like that, now. Smiling. Making me smile. Sometimes it’s the only way he can be affectionate. Sometimes it was the only way he could have a moment with me when Alistair hoarded my time._

_And a harder prick on my heart when I realize what he meant by sitting my bed with tea each night. Why he took me on walks every day. Why he still does those things. It’s been the only way he could have moments with me. With_ **me,** _not a person my station demands I be._

_His face distorts in concern as my eyes gloss. “Anders, I need to apologize,” I tell him._

_“For what?”_

_“For… everything. You’ve done so much to help me from the moment I met you. I know you didn’t want to help the Architect. I know you didn’t want to heal me up for my… my husband,” I whisper. “Even before all this training. But you haven’t complained once. You healed Oghren, you healed- You gave your own_ **blood** _to heal_ **Nathaniel…”**

 _“I gave my blood to heal_ **you,** _also.”_

_I search his eyes. “What?”_

_He smiles for me again. “The Architect couldn’t take much more from Velanna after her womb. I volunteered mine.”_

**“Anders.”** _I can’t believe he’s done so much for me. He’s never once asked for anything in return._

_He shakes his head, smiling again. “You don't need to apologize for anything. I wanted to help.”_

_“But I never_ **thanked** _you, I never--” with a shaky sigh, I plop on the ground. “I used to_ **hate** _magic.”_

_“I know.” Anders sits next to me and leans on his knees._

_“You knew?” My heart hurts even more._

_He nods, looking out over the scenery at Plum and Po beyond. “You’ve said a few things. But you’ve changed. I think you changed when we traveled to Blackmarsh. You’ve looked at me different since then.”_

**“You’ve** _changed me.” I mean it. He made me see how his heart made the magic. "And what you said to Alistair, about him taking me away from myself. That’s_ **exactly** _what I’ve struggled with, with him. You knew it. You said exactly what I’ve tried telling him for_ **years.** _What I_ **gave up** _telling him because he never listens.”_

 _“I know how it feels,” he says. “I knew from the start what it was. Being forced to suppress yourself leaves a mark the suppressors can’t see. Or don’t.” I watch him. Anders swallows a breath and wets his mouth. His eyes survey me. “I understand the need for a safe space. That’s why I asked if you wanted me to leave, then. Once that safe space is breached…” he shakes his head, eyes drifting away. “I_ **meant** _when I said you saved me. Becoming a Warden was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve helped to try to repay that. Not sure anything I do can measure up, but it’s why I want to help.”_

_“But now you’ll always be seen as my-- as the Queen’s--” I can’t say it. It’s so fucking degrading._

_He hesitates. “Is there an official name for it?” He knows what I can’t say._

_I shake my head. “No. Men have mistresses and concubines. Women just have… lovers. Paramours. I don’t remember the Antivan word. I never wanted_ **any** _of that for you, Anders. I never meant for it to happen. I never…” I take a long, hard breath. “I never meant to carried away with you.”_

 _“I’m_ **glad** _you did. Saved me the trouble of_ **begging** _for attention,” he teases. I can’t help a smile. He watches me again, quiet for a moment. “Whatever happens in the end, I’m glad to be here now.”_

_“Me too.” My eyes close when he touches me. Anders’ fingers tingle my skin as he tucks hair behind my ear._

_Anders… talk of official names for a Queen’s love affair reminds me I don’t know Anders’ name. He’s always gone by the nickname for an Anderfels resident._

_“May I ask you something I suspect is… personal?” His skin on mine makes it hard to speak._

_“Of course.” Hot breath plays on my face before his lips brush._

_“Do you not know your real name?”_

_His breath pauses. When I open my eyes, he is already tilting my head so I meet his eyes. Anders looks in both my eyes. Searching for something I can’t imagine. After a while, his brow and eyes flinch._

_“I said the wrong thing.” I breathe. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer that.”_

_“No, I’m not upset. I just…” A deep breath warms my face even from there, tingles my lips. His thumb moves across my cheek like a rainbow. “I know it. But… that’s always been_ **my** _safe spot. I’d… I need it to_ **stay** _that way. At least for right now. For_ **me,”** _he tells me._

 _I nod. Safe spot. Like this part of the garden with him is_ **my** _safe spot. I understand that. “All right. I’m sorry, still. I didn’t… think that far ahead before I asked.”_

 _“It’s okay.” His drawing touch continues. Anders folds his hand at the hook of my jaw and glides his fingers back along. My eyelids fall on their own. I could sit here all day feeling this. He know how to touch me to pull me in. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day. I want at least_ **one** _person to know before I die.”_

 _I groan, not even meaning to. “You’ve got thirty years, give or take. I’m_ **sorry,** _again. Recruiting isn’t my strength.”_

_Anders huffs. Tender lips press at the corner of mine. I feel him smile. My chest feels too small again. “I’ll take what I can get.” His nose grazes mine. He nuzzles me cheek to nose, breath picking up against me the longer we sit. His forehead tarries on mine. My own breath comes too late or quivers my chest. Anders brings my arms around him, drapes them behind his neck. His breath steams my mouth. Tingling. A mess of anticipation. His arms enclose me against him and keep me there. I don’t mean to whimper. I don’t know who kissed who first. I only know the tingle is now inside me, spreading like pond ripples each time his lips press against mine._

 

 

 

 _Day three of my week of freedom: it is raining. It has been raining_ **all day.** _What looked like an ocean storm from the distance became a dull, gray day of fat drops that turned the grounds to puddles. Had the rains not drowned the Keep in sluggishness, I might have a mind to do anything other than lounge around._

_The throne is piled with pillows that make draping over it sideways comfortable. My head hangs off one armrest, my legs the other. The sturdy wooden chair vibrates from my heels every other second, though I can’t seem to kick when I yawn. Nathaniel droops between two chairs by the open hearth in the center of the room. He looks like a human hammock. Oghren attempts to teach Anders Diamondback on a pile of quilts on the floor. Oghren’s back is to me, but from his triumphant laughter and Anders' cries of disbelief with the occasional curse, I know who is winning._

_“Annnnderrrrrs?” I ask, staring up at the ceiling. I’ve traced these same lines with my eyes and head for hours now._

_“Yeeeesssssss?” he sings back._

_“Why didn’t it storm? Wasn’t it supposed to storm?”_

_“I don’t know the answer to that. I’m a person-doctor, not a cloud-doctor.”_

_“A cloud-doctor!” Oghren snorts. He hesitates. “Are there such things as cloud doctors?”_

_Anders hums in amusement. “Oh, sure. They live in the Fade. You know, where_ **schleets** _come from.”_

 _“Oh,_ **those** _schleets?” I glance over with a grin. Anders winks at me with a violent smirk. We’ll never forget the day a guard’s joke spooked Oghren._

_“Ah, what do you expect? I’ve been on the surface two sodding years!” Oghren grumbles. With my neck stretched, my giggle sounds like I’ve a toad in my throat._

_"Has anyone seen_ **Justice?"** _Nathaniel asks._

_"Mmm... He said something about patrolling," Anders answers._

_"In this weather? Maker help us, do you know what his_ **skin** _will look like tomorrow?" I shiver at the thought._

_Anders' face crinkles. "Eew, no. Don't worry, I'm almost sure he said the basement."_

_I sigh a little too loud. “Well... that's probably best. I may put a cot in there, or something. Give him his own quarters there."_

_"He'd like that." Anders slaps down a card, then groans. "Fuck."_

_"Haahaaa! Another round, Warden! And this time sodding try."_

_"I can't help that I'm not a dwarf. I_ **doomed** _myself at this game by being born," Anders chuckles._

 _"You should play with elves. You'd sit naked before you knew you lost your shirt." I sigh again. "I_ **do** _wish it would storm, though,” I say._

_“Me too,” Anders agrees over Oghren's noise about losing._

_“What is wrong with both of you?” Nathaniel the hammock mumbles from his chairs. His foot taps and fingers drum._

_“Lightning is energizing,” I tell him. “And I love the sound of thunder. I love how you can feel it through the floor.”_

_“That to the letter,” Anders says._ **“This** _rain is_ **horrible.** _Bleak and gloomy like a bad mystery novel set in the moors.”_

_“That wasn’t specific enough, Anders,” Nathaniel says. I giggle again and look over. Anders grins at me from across the hall._

_“I’m only saying,” Anders shakes his head with a shrug. He pauses to frown at his cards, then Oghren, then back down. “A true storm livens up any party.”_

_“Hate to break to you, kid, but this isn’t a party,” Oghren says._

_“It_ **could** _be, if someone didn’t drink all my_ **rum,”** _I call over._

_“It was one cup, sheesh,” Oghren tells me._

_“The Joining Chalice is_ **not** _a dinner cup, Ogh.” I shake my head by rolling it across the armrest._

 _“It is when_ **I** _get ahold of it.”_

 _“Well, I hope that’s_ **all** _you get a hold of, then,” Anders says._

_“Don’t make me prod you, you skirt-wearing freak.”_

**“What?”** _Anders grins._

 **“Prod?”** _I laugh so hard I turn over. If not for the ornaments on the armrests I might fall. “Oh, Ogh! I had no idea you wanted to prod Anders!” Nathaniel slaps a hand over his face in a silent laugh._

_“That’s not what I sodding said!” Oghren barks. Anders looks like he wishes it wasn’t so funny._

_He stares back at me. Lets me have his grin. My chest tightens just watching him smile. His heart is so big and so absorbing even the smallest measure of sadness moves him. I love seeing him smile. I’m glad Anders is happy here._

_He jumps with a frown and snaps his head at Oghren. “Ow! What was that for?”_

_“Let me spell it for you,” Nathaniel says, “D-I-S-C-R-E-T-I-O-N.”_

_“Oh, Nathaniel,” I sigh._

_“Oh Maker, are you serious? Over what?” Anders asks._

_“It’s been five sodding minutes since your turn started,” Oghren says_

_Anders shakes his head. “Has not,” he argues._

**“How** _in the_ **void** _can you tell time up here, Oghren?” I ask._

_A low rumble echoes through the hall, distracting us all in an instant._

_Nathaniel scoffs in disgust. “Oghren!” he accuses._

_“Eew!” My nose scrunches with my laugh._

_“I didn’t sodding do anything!”_

_Nathaniel groans. “I pity you right now, Anders.” If anyone smells it first, it will be Anders._

_Anders grins, but his eyes move as he listens. It prompts me to listen, also. Another rumble. “I… don’t think that’s Oghren.” Anders squints and looks up, as if he can see the source._

_“Told you.” Oghren snorts. “It was probably Nate all along.”_

_“No, if it was me, there would be no question.” Nathaniel shakes his head. My laugh echoes through the hall._

_A loud clap and rolling rumble shake the floor and makes me gasp. Not a moment later, what sounds like a waterfall beats upon the roof. At once, all our heads point up._

_“Just sodding great,” Oghren snorts. "I've got twilight gatehouse duty."_

_“Tess.” I look over to see Anders with a growing smile on his face. It’s already enkindled him. I don’t know what Oghren and Nathaniel dislike storms for. These kind of storms send a rush of energy to me. Anders’ eyes shift to the ceiling for a moment, then he freezes. His smile wanes in dawning and his eyes grow. He searches me from across the hall before dropping his cards and scrambling._

_“What the sod?” Oghren moves aside as cards fly._

_“Sorry Oghren!” Anders skids over to me and takes my hands, pulling me up in the chair. “Come on. Come with me! I want to show you something!” He beams in excitement like a child in Wonder of Thedas. “Come on! Oh, but take off your slippers first!”_

_“What?” I laugh, unsure what he means. Anders reaches down and pulls off my slippers for me._

_“I have a surprise for you. Just come on!” He pulls me, grinning, eager. “Nate, come on!”_

_“You want me to go out there barefoot?” Nathaniel looks up at us in doubt._

_“Yes! Before it passes!” Anders yanks on his arm. “Honestly, of all the times to not trust me-!”_

_Nathaniel sighs and sits up, yanking off his shoes. “Fine.”_

_“Now! Come on! I don’t want to lose the storm!”_

_Opening the doors lets in a roar of water. We try to duck as we run through the yett but the rain pours so hard ducking avoids nothing. Puddle after puddle splash up around as we dart. Anders laughs when rain down my neck makes me yelp._

_Thunder rumbles as we stop, bouncing off the bailey walls to our drenched feet. Faint lightning brightens the clouds above. It is not yet suppertime but it is so dark it’s like dusk._

_“All right, one second!” Anders squints as water pelts his face._

_“You dragged us out here for magic?” Nathaniel yells over the noise of the rain._

_“Not just any magic!” Anders shouts back. His hands and arms almost glow as he primes himself._

_“How is this different?” Nathaniel tries to shield his eyes._

_“Just watch!” Anders looks at me while the glow gathers in his hands. “This is what I want to do every night!” The grin on his face is unstoppable._

_I don’t have time to ask. Aiming aslant at the sky, Anders releases one hand, primes it again while he releases the other, then throws his last spell. Ice, a crushing prison, and conjured stone. Three colors soar into the dark, blurry sky… and fade._

_“Just wait!” Anders insists, bracing my shoulder._

_Another second. And another._

_“What-”_

_An explosion of light cuts Nathaniel off. A cloud bursts with a crack into colors that flash and glitter around the sky like glowing confetti. I grab at my boys, well aware my mouth is half to my knees and I’m not breathing. Nathaniel laughs and cries out in awe. Purple, white, green, falling above like a dome of a thousand miniature lightning bolts. Immeasurable versions of Anders’ bedtime fireworks._

_Fireworks. These are the fireworks Anders wants to shoot off every night in his home in the mountains with all those cats._ **This** _is part of his greatest dream. How does someone dream up things this grand?_

_I look at him. Anders grins up at his handiwork, only now fading. Fixing my grip on Anders’ shirt, I hold my other hand out to try catch worm-like glitter, but it disappears too far from reach._

_Anders takes my hand from his shirt to stand back and ready spells again._

_“Where did you even learn this?” Nathaniel calls._

_Anders laughs. “A lot of trial and error and a forbidden book on Tevinter party tricks!” More colors fly from his hands. Red, blue, yellow. Anders sends a fourth bolt as the others disappear into the clouds._

_We’re expecting this one. Explosive, whistling rainbow of countess sparks and bolts. Raining down with water like it lives between each drop. Nathaniel whoops in glee. I can’t stop grinning. I can’t stop staring. At Anders. At the glittering wonder._

_Most of the spells he threw were harmful. Harmful spells that are harmless when he’s not in battle. Harmful spells that become_ **art** _out of battle. Beautiful. His magic is beautiful._

_I look at Anders. He beams at me. His happiness is almost aglow itself. Rain drips from loose tufts, down his nose, from the ends of his hair, gliding smooth paths down his skin only to pelt him again and again. He’s so happy he doesn’t care how cold or wet he is._

_I can’t stop staring at him. He shared his_ **dream** _with us. The dream he wants hidden from the world in a place he feels at peace. But he shared it with me and Nathaniel._

_Before I consider our surroundings, I throw my arms around his neck and push my mouth to his. Anders gasps and braces my waist. Then with a hot exhale, he melts. His lips push back, his arms pull me in against him. A sigh vibrates through his tongue to mine. I match him without trying. I can’t hold him tight enough._

_“Oh,_ **what** _did I_ **tell** _you?” Nathaniel calls out._

_Before I can break from Anders, a heavy wall of cold water drenches us. I turn away shrieking my cousin’s name. Anders laughs and wipes his face with a grimace. Nathaniel laughs from his belly, then curses with a grin when I start after him._

_“I’ll get him!” Anders run off faster. Then spins right around on his heels comes back to me._ **“Can** _I get him?” He holds my arms. “I really want to get him.”_

 _I can’t stop giggling. “All right,_ **you** _get him.” With a grin, Anders and bolts after Nathaniel._

_I watch the rain blur my boys. I can’t see them well through the storm, but their laughter and curses of surprise ring out. By their crude narration where knees have gone, they might be young noble boys left unattended._

_One… two… three…_

_I run after them. They’re already muddy. They don’t even need to splash or trip each other, trying to move through the wet ground and rain gets us all filthy. Oh Maker, the mess we’ll make through the Keep tonight._

_As soon as Anders drops his shield, I charge. “Oh shit!!” I scream as we all fall. I only meant to jump on Anders, but my weight topples him right onto Nathaniel. Nathaniel laughs so hard he rolls over._

_“Are you all right?” Anders can’t talk without laughing. He pulls me to my feet after failed attempts. Nathaniel still chuckles, rainwater rinsing off his arms and hair. When I stop giggling and find my bearings to stay upright, Anders’ hands are alight again._

_I can’t help but stare. Purple and blue and green clash against the stormy clouds. Another explosion illuminating the darkness. What did Anders call it? Beauty from within. That’s what his fireworks are. Such raw fascination I’ve never experienced before. How do people fear magic? Maker, this is better than any present I’ve received._

_Pressure throws me right into a puddle. Anders laughs out behind me as Nathaniel rolls off me and splashes again. “Eew! Eew gross, it’s in my mouth!” I sputter and wipe my tongue. My cousin laughs so hard he doesn’t care he’s lying in a bigger puddle. “Nathaniel!” I scramble to another and stomp at an angle._

_“Ech!_ **Now** _it’s in_ **my** _mouth!” Nathaniel swipes at his tongue with rainwater in his palm. With a growl, he darts to another puddle._

_“No no no! Na-- oooh!” A clear blue wall distracts me. The barrier almost glows. I look over to see Anders smile with a shrug. Protecting me from Nathaniel’s splash. I can’t stop my smile. In a blink to rid rain from my eye, Nathaniel splashes Anders and tackles him._

_“Oh shit!” Anders falls backwards, almost not catching himself for laughing so hard._

_I don’t remember the last time I did anything like this._ **Was** _there a time? Did I play in the rain like this as child? I don’t recall anything this silly. It’s so simple and repetitive, but_ **free.** _I splash Nathaniel, Anders throws a barrier around him, I tackle Anders and Nathaniel splashes us. I splash Nathaniel, and Anders holds a barrier on me. He puts a barrier back on Nathaniel only to drop it so we can splash him at once. Silly. Innocent. Little kid stuff._

 _No one telling me to get out of the rain, no one telling me to get ahold of myself. No one telling me no eye-contact with a man I haven’t married. No demands to Be a Lady. I can’t step a toe in a puddle in the palace gardens without Her Majesty Shall Catch Cold if She is Not Cautious. But I can be as careless - no,_ **carefree** _\- as I want_ **here.**

_Here, I am free to be what the suppressed noble child inside me always wanted be like._

**Free.** _I just wanted to be free._

_I don’t fucking care if I catch a cold. I finally found my freedom._

 

 

Anders glanced around. He and Nathaniel got so carried away they never noticed Tess wasn’t with them anymore. When he found her at last, Tess spiraled past the portcullis with her arms out. Anders let curiosity overcome him and followed her. And he could only smile. Grace was hard to find in a mage’s life, but Anders found it here in _her._ Poised and delicate, Tess leapt through puddles like ballerina. Dainty bare toes almost made no splash, though each twirl sent ripples. He didn’t know she danced like this. For a moment, Anders let himself get lost watching her.

Tess seemed unaware light rain replaced the storm showers. She danced through puddles in a world all her own. Hummed, dipped to splash with only the balls of her feet. Anders’ smile spread when her hands grew alight. Raised her arms, but instead of expelling magic, she moved the world around her. Drops of water rose from the puddles at her feet and twirled around her as she spun. _The rain danced with her._ Anders knew that wasn’t the case. But that’s what it looked like. She wanted to dance with the rain. So she did.

Nathaniel leaned against the gatehouse walls. His feet rocked, palms thumped upon wood. A steady rhythm filled the area, every few beats accented with a pop of Nathaniel’s mouth. A rhythm Nathaniel might have played before when Tess recovered. Anders didn’t know the song but he tapped along anyway. Tess either knew the song or improvised. Her feet moved back and forth in small steps, following patterns Anders couldn’t see half of, as if Tess had an invisible partner. Sometimes her footsteps gaped to turn and kick one foot back, then to do it all again. The drops in the air moved with her, leaned, dipped, glittered copper in the covered torches that hadn’t blown out in the storm. Hips swaying wide, part of the dance it seemed. Wide _and_ _round_. She moved _so sure_ her dress forgot it was wet and ought to hang heavy. It twisted around her, twirled back around, danced with the rain with her. She was like a flower in full bloom. A flower _eager_ for plucking. _Alluring._

Like the dance _meant_ to entice.

_It worked._

Anders was captivated. Tess _never_ let this side of herself out; perhaps not allowed to. Anders did not want to miss it. He tried to get a better view, moved around as she turned. Tried to keep her curves in view. The way her hips rolled thrummed parts of him that weren’t strummed _this hard_ during training. She strummed him from a _distance._ Made his mind wander to the shape beneath her wet gown. He could almost feel cool wet skin beneath his hand and heavy wet cloth above. He could almost feel her shudder at his touch.

“Stop philandering my cousin with your eyes!” Nathaniel yelled over the noise of his hands. Anders turned his head with a glare, unable to help a grin. Tess giggled with scrunched eyes and almost lost balance.

Why did she have to be so adorable?

Nathaniel joined Tess; the one man Anders would never compete against. Anders never saw Nathaniel dance this way either. It was like the cousins grew up with the same minstrels. He replaced Tess’ invisible partner, and all her moves now made sense. Their feet alone were a dance - or maybe in a duel - chasing, fleeing, parrying. Nathaniel became the tempo, rocking his shoulders, _bum bum ba dum bum-bum._ If Anders wasn’t so impressed with the dance, he might shout lecherous comments to stumble them. Tess shrieked with glee when Nathaniel twirled her, and all the water drops dancing along sloshed down. Anders and Nathaniel laughed at her girlish scream, and Nathaniel pulled her back in.

Even when they broke apart and danced like fools to a different imaginary songs, Anders couldn’t stop staring at Tess. This was a whole new side of her. _How_ could Tess be so fun and sexy and _perfect_ and beautiful - _and want him for more than just sex?_

 

 

**_Anders:_ **

_She grew on me. I never saw her as anything more than the Queen until the day she challenged the King’s secret. When she revealed everyone treated her like she was a danger to herself. She became a person, then. I related to her. Then I noticed people only recognized her from her scars - things she thought made her look hideous. And her tale to the Architect: how she was tied and forced open so a poison could kill a fetus and prevent the Hero of River Dane from impregnating her again._ **Fry** _a fetus is more like it. Holding her spoiled womb in my hands before I threw it in the burning basin horrified me. Like overcooked hog skin and wet charcoal - and it sat_ **inside** _her like that for half her life. I realized this woman who killed the Archdemon and saved the world did so_ **even though** _the world didn’t lift a finger to save_ **her** _her whole life. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t killed herself already. She was always pretty, her scars not more than tattoos to me, but when I saw how much she’d survived - with absolutely_ **no** **hope** _in sight - I hurt for her. I hurt for what she thought didn’t exist in herself. I began to care about her happiness. About making her feel better. It became my mission to make sure her day ended as good as possible._

 _Before I knew it, I wanted to see her smile_ **at me.** _I wanted to be happy_ **with** _her._

 _I always flirt. I can’t help it. It’s become habit to keep myself separate from the Circle. It either deters people or brings gratification. I’ve never let it go beyond. I don’t even let people_ **touch** _me unless my smalls are off; healing doesn’t come close to it,_ **I** _do all the touching then. I’ve never kissed anyone outside of sex, and never the same person twice._

_Except Tess._

_Mages don’t fall in love. Those that break the rules and try live as heartbroken slaves to the Chantry. They watch their babies ripped from their arms to become Chanters or shipped to a foreign Circle. Then they give in to Tranquility or commit suicide. Or summon demons in plain sight to have life ended for them._

_I didn’t expect to feel anything when I held her hand. I didn’t expect to_ **want** _to touch Tess_ **more.** _I didn’t expect_ **her** _touch to feel so_ **good.** _Part of me flirts out of habit but I mean every word I tell her. I didn’t expect to_ **need** _our time together each day. Didn’t expect the way she moves to make me miss a woman on my lap._

_I didn’t expect her to kiss me. I didn’t expect to be part of her safe space._

_She has everything every girl in Ferelden wants, but_ **she** _doesn’t want it. She wants…_ **me.** _Seeing her enjoy her grain of freedom - choosing to spend it with_ **me** _\- is more motivation to break the rules than I knew possible. She’s willing to throw away her_ **crown** _for me. How did_ **I** _do this? How can something so beautiful want me around longer than a night? I haven’t even had sex with her._

… **Can** _I do this? I’ve never given myself away before. That’s not me, I just don’t do that. I can’t protect myself if I do. Part of me already has cold feet; and remembers she’s Queen with a husband. The other part wants to know what non-stop vulnerability feels like; what a broken heart feels like. I don’t know which is stronger. Can I finish what I started?_

 

 

Tess _bounced_ over. Happy and carefree and almost glowing. “Will you frost me?” she asked.

“Frost you?” Anders echoed, already grinning.

She nodded. “Coat me in ice. Please?”

A laugh of wonder came out in a huff. “As my Lady wishes.” Anders held an arm out, touched the top of her head with a single finger, and brought his magic forth. In the approaching night, it almost glowed.

“Oooh!” Tess shivered with wide eyes as frost touched her head. Anders grinned, continuing his flow of ice.

“And… this is supposed to accomplish what?” Nathaniel asked as Tess spun in slow circles.

“Piss off, Almighty Jealous-He!” Tess said. Anders and Nathaniel shared a laugh of question. “I’m half-certain if you want Anders to _crown you,_ you’ve _butt_ to ask.”

Anders laughed in disgust while Nathaniel turned away with profane disbelief. _“Cousin!!”_ Nathaniel failed his hardest attempt to stop laughing.

“Sometimes I wonder how you were raised a noble,” Anders teased her.

Tess grinned in giddy pride. Her eyes flicked to him as she turned by. “Ice me harder.” Tess then giggled at herself.

Anders couldn’t stop tittering. _“Ohh,_ I am getting _all_ sorts of naughty ideas in my head right now. All completely relevant to… _crowning_ you,” he whispered so Nathaniel wouldn’t hear. As she wanted, he let his frost flow thicker.

“Oh, _are_ you?” Tess perked up, meeting his eyes as she spun around again.

“Oh, yes I am.” His grin was permanent. “But we may have to occupy Nathaniel with hard liquor and enough drums for the ni- ” Anders wasn’t prepared for what came from icing her. “… night…” he at last finished. The more ice covered Tess, the more she could absorb the right amount. Coated from head to toe, Tess stood - slow twirled - in frost. Defined crystals decorated her body like a second skin. “Nathaniel,” he called, keeping his eyes on Tess.

He’d seen her in battle. He saw how offensive magic absorbed into her and released back to the caster. But he’d never seen offensive magic like _this_ in her. This was little different from his own fireworks. He used offensive spells for those, too. Only Tess turned them to art _within_ herself. She used Anders’ combat magic to become living art.

_Maker._

“If it’s anoth-” Nathaniel cut himself off with a noise of awe.

Both men stood marveling. There were so many crystals the frost almost took life of its own. _Now_ she _was_ glowing.

 

 

**_Anders:_ **

_How is this my life? I’m a mage. With another mage; I don’t care how she became one. Free from the Circle and restriction. More beautiful than I knew someone_ **could** _be._ **Accepting** _my magic as_ **part** _of herself. Like it’s no big deal. My_ **magic** **.**

 **My** _magic. Like it’s a simple touch._

 _She doesn’t care it’s not my hand. That it comes_ **from** _my hand._

_…Is she really my life right now?_

 

 

Tess bit her lip and grinned at Nathaniel. Mischief sparkled in her eyes. She raised one hand, open and flexed her fingers, and the frost around her body sucked in like her silhouette slurped it. Anders could not stop grinning as the frost - _his_ frost - crawled back up her hand. Before their eyes, a snowy ball formed on her palm.

“No no no! No snowballs! _That’s cheating!”_ Nathaniel laughed as he ran backwards.

Anders laughed, and Tess turned with a giggle. Mischief still danced in her eyes. Before Anders could prepare himself, Tess let the snowball fly. Anders turned his head athrill with surprise as it crushed against his chest. Tess drew her shoulders in and giggled again, stepping like she dared him to chase her.

 

 

**_Anders:_ **

_Maker forsaken urges. It almost itches! My chest, my arms, they_ **itch** _to hold her. I_ **need** _to touch her, I need to feel her against me, I need her skin. I need her breath on my face._

 

 

She froze in his hands. Taken by surprise, not ready for him.

Anders pulled back. Took a step back, released her face. Told her he was sorry. The moment got away from him.

Sunken inside, kicking himself for hoping too much, Anders turned. But in a blink, all the feelings rushed back. She spun him and secured her arms around his neck with a hard kiss square on his mouth. The sigh that shook his chest came with a pain he didn’t expect. He _wanted_ this, he was so grateful she wanted him - wanted to _kiss_ him right now. But the pounding knot behind his chest hurt.

He didn’t know relief could hurt.

Anders sighed again. Moved his mouth, tightened his arms. Drank in _her_ sigh when he tasted her tongue. _Content_ with her lips to his and his pounding heart against hers.

He wondered if love felt like this.

 

 

**_Anders:_ **

_It doesn’t seem real. I’m_ **afraid** _it’s not real. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up._

 

 

“I _see_ that!” Nathaniel called.

Mouth still on Tess, Anders summoned his own ball of frost. Behind his back where Nathaniel couldn’t see it. Without warning, Anders ripped away from Tess and aimed for Nathaniel.

Nathaniel turned and giggled as it crashed on his shoulder. “Not fair! I can’t summon snowballs! _Magic assholes.”_

“Magic assholes?” Tess laughed. “I don’t shit _fire_ and _rainbows,_ Nathaniel!”

Anders laughed so hard he almost lost balance. “Just for that, Nate, you can have two!” He held up both hands and let frost roll.

“You damnable - where’s my fucking bow?” Nathaniel laughed as he scrambled to hide.

The euphoria didn’t wane. Anders couldn’t stop grinning. The world was on a sudden a brighter place. As much fun as they had through the storm, it was _more_ fun now. Nathaniel burst a snowball with a bow and cursed when it sprayed him, and Anders’ sides almost split. Tess absorbed snowballs, and Anders’ awed as his magic hugged her like a dress. Sometimes he aimed for her on purpose. Every snowball crashing on her bum turned her with a knowing smirk and made Anders long for their private nightcap.

Seeing his magic spread through her never failed to steal his breath. To see a woman be _so part_ of it, to accept it like… like another, more intimate part of himself. That’s what it felt like watching her whole body _drink_ him in. _Not needing to pull out._ Andraste forgive him, but that’s what it felt like _for him._

It felt like _staying._

A solid body rammed into Anders and brought him down. Nathaniel’s full weight pinned him to the ground. Anders winced with a laugh. “Nate, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’d rather have Tess on me!”

“I can arrange that!” Tess called out. Anders grinned. Nathaniel grimaced a laugh about horrible discretion.

Anders grabbed a leg to swing him off, but Nathaniel the sod was stronger than he looked. Nathaniel only laughed as Anders’ efforts slid him down his back. With his arms now trapped, Anders couldn’t budge him.

“Now _take_ off your clothes!” They looked up to see Tess standing over them with a grin.

They laughed in disbelief. “What?”

Tess grinned too wide for her own good. “I’ll pay _gold_ to see you peg Anders!”

 _“What?!”_ Anders laughed so hard he collapsed on the muddy ground.

Nathaniel leaned to look up at Tess. _“Real_ gold?” He kept a straight face only long enough for Anders to laugh in protest. Then Nathaniel rolled off laughing, holding his ribs and denying he said it.

 

 

“It’s not every day a girl sees _this.”_

Anders and Nathaniel grinned without moving. While they waited for Tess to finish her bath, they stole into her room, turned over chairs, and hung their manes over the seats. They sat on mounds of pillows at her roaring hearth, drying their hair like Kings. Or Wardens.

 _“Where’s_ a _painter_ when I need one? And you’re lucky I’ve clothes on, Nathaniel. Sometimes I come back in naught but a robe,” Tess said. Anders peeked at her. A violent smirk lit up her face.

Nathaniel squeezed his eyes tight and tried to kick her away. “My satin locks are more important than your robes,” he couldn’t say it without laughing.

Anders watched her. Her eyes roamed over each man as if she had trouble deciding which to lark first. From down here, everything stood out. The swell of her breasts, the pout of her lips, the soft pouch of her belly he’d healed. When her eyes lingered on him, Anders licked his lips and closed his eyes with a smirk. “I believe it’s _your_ turn to fetch tea.”

“The _Commander_ of the _Grey_ does _not_ \- Oh, wait, it _is_ my turn. _Shit._ All right, fine, what’s it to be?”

They laughed again. “Something warm. Hot whiskey, maybe. Now that I’m out of the bath, _I’m freezing,”_ Anders said.

“Freezing? Well, I may _personally_ be able to warm-”

“Don’t even fucking say it!” Nathaniel cut her off. Anders laughed so loud his voice echoed.

 

Nathaniel couldn’t stand it. Said he might even feel their tension from the city. When Tess protested, Nathaniel rolled his eyes, kissed his cousin’s head, and said goodnight.

Anders studied her. Watched how she held her cup and sipped. Watched her eyes dart to his, then shift away, then repeat. If the night still fared as it had outside in the rain, Anders had an idea what made her nervous.

He hoped she was the one to ask. He wanted validation she felt what he did.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he could do it. If it went too far… the King might have his head.

“He’s right.” Anders huffed a laugh, watching warm, spiced whiskey swirl in his teacup. “There’s so much tension we almost need Oghren’s axe.”

Tess groaned. _“Please,_ no, I don’t want anything Oghren handles on a daily basis in my room.”

Anders laughed into his hand. “No, no, no.” He shook his head. He huffed for breath, then drank.

Tess took her own deep breath, again. And again.

“Do you need to talk? About… earlier?” he offered. Kissing in the rain where patrolling guards and unfortunate Keep staff had clear view of them.

“Talk?” She looked at him and blinked. “No,” she shook her head and looked away with another full breath. “Not talk. Something… else.”

“Something else?” Anders echoed in amusement. The question he expected felt evident.

“Maker, you think I would be better at asking for this!” she hissed.

A zip flushed south through his body. Anders sat up.

After more deep breathing and trembling hands, Tess looked him dead in the eyes. “Will you braid my hair?”

Anders stared. He leaned closer and squinted. He must have heard wrong. _“What?”_

Tess laughed so loud her shriek echoed. She laughed so hard she tipped off the bed and Anders had to let their teacups crash just to catch her. She laughed so hard she couldn’t hold herself up even with him right there propping her up. “You thought I was going to--!” Tess turned halfway around on the bed laughing so hard. She clutched him, pressed her face into him until he almost fell backwards himself.

Anders had no fucking clue. Not at all what he expected to come out of her mouth. It took most his effort trying to keep her from rolling them both off the bed. She laughed so hard he couldn’t help his own laugh.

When at last she succumbed to breath and waning giggles shook only her shoulders, Tess looked at him. She clutched his hand, searched his eyes. Made the cutest face trying not to smile. Reached out and tucked loose tufts behind his ear. Took a moment to compose herself; though every other second she giggled again.

“Anders?” Compared to a moment ago, she was calm as could be. She beamed though. Bright and giddy and stuck in elation. Happier than she’d even been, except maybe under his fireworks. Infectious. Anders couldn’t help but smile with her.

He adored her. Envied her. Wanted to feel what made her so confident about him. _Craved_ her. Wanted to know how it felt to _make love;_ not just sex.

“Yes.” Anders pushed his mouth to hers, pushing her down on her back. Ran his hands up her sides to bring her arms around him. A moan broke from her throat. Didn’t give her time to ask for _braids_ again. “Yes, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	22. Consumed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess and Anders push their consciences aside for the night and lose themselves in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Between the Raindrops, by Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG6-bU6esKo)

“Yes, I’ll stay and braid your hair.”

“What? No!” Tess laughed “No! That’s not what I want you to do!”

“But that’s what you asked.” Anders grinned.

“No no!” She paused. “But you _can afterwards_ if you want. The little braids.” She held fingers up in a pinch.

Anders laughed and leaned down for another kiss. She cooed into his mouth, bracing his head with a hard drag down his neck. Fingernails scraped as her hand dipped beneath his collar, sending a tingle straight to his groin. The sensation rolled his hips. A roll of her own as she opened to him rumbled noise through his throat.

Everything was different with her. He’d never let affection be a part of caring for someone; a doctor’s touch was not a lover’s by far. Wasn’t sure he ever _cared_ for anyone till now. Sex was never more than a way to release tension before. _Kissing_ was never more than an urge during sex, or a way to seduce when he wanted it. Never considered either a benefit to giving himself away. Never knew _desire_ could stem from… _adoration._

Undressing brought a sudden, complicated turn. With his shirt on the floor and her many ties in his hands, Anders answered his own question in his head: _What sort of woman needs so many layers?_

The Queen. The _Queen_ needs so many layers. Maker forbid the Queen be able to undress for a quick tryst in a dark corner.

And the Queen had a husband. _Anders almost forgot._ Let himself get carried away _and forgot about the risk._

Anders let his hands lay flat and dropped his head to hers. A large breath overcame him with a pang behind his ribs.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Are you sure about this?” He needed to know. Needed to know it would be worth whatever wrath the King might later inflict.

“Yes.” She paused, then held his wrists and breathed with him. “If you don’t want to, it’s…” She nodded. “It’s all right.”

“That’s not…” Anders swallowed and wet his lips. “What about your-- _your husband?”_ it came out a scant whisper. Denial only took a person so far; mages more so. A denial he wanted to drown in.

Denial that could kill him when the King returned, or if Tess… took child.

Hard air through her nose and a tighter grip on his wrists said Tess forgot, also. _Let_ herself forget.

“He’s… _not here_ right now. He wasn’t here _today_ out…” Outside during the storm when _Tess_ chose _Anders._ When _he_ chose _her._ “It wasn’t him out… these past weeks. _Months._ _He left_ me, but _you--”_

Anders held the back of her head and kissed her face. “You can get _pregnant_ now, though. What’s… You’re the Queen. You’re not supposed to have a mage’s baby.”

She let out a laugh and held the nape of his neck. “They may _all_ be mages now, thanks to the Archdemon. I don’t- I don’t want to think that far ahead right now. Please. I just…”

“What will happen when he returns? Or watches… a child he thought was his own grow up to look like me?”

Tess stood taller, breathed deep. Raised her head and brought his hands back to her laces. “He can _deal_ with it. There’s _already_ a child in the world with _his_ face. Or eyes.” The Archdemon baby. When she told them, it was only another thing he couldn’t blame her for running from. All those accusations sleeping with Nathaniel when the _King_ already made a baby with someone else.

Anders searched her eyes for a moment. She wanted something pure, a fresh start. Anders wasn’t close to pure, but she wanted it from him. _With_ him. She was willing to have his baby; seemed like she _wanted_ it. Could _he_ do it? Could he let himself get her pregnant? _Knowing_ any child of his might be taken to the Circle and forget his parents?

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be like that. Maybe… if it happened, she might… leave with him? The hidden home in the mountains, the one he always dreamed of. Away from Chantry jurisdiction. Maybe it could be _different._

_Then they could both stop running. Forever._

His mouth fell to hers in a mingle of hot breath and silent consent. It would be worth it. _They would make it worth it._ Kiss by kiss, with busy fingers, they began to forget again. It was _just them_ again.

Seeing her naked body stole his breath. It was the first time he saw her whole body since she lay on the Architect’s operation table. Anders remembered counting her scars, almost four dozen on her front side alone, with hints to more already healed. _No wonder she thought herself ugly before._ He watched them all fade under the Architect’s magic. The woman before him now was far from that desperate patient. She stood now as she wanted to be. Scar-less. Beautiful at last in her own eyes. Confident because of it.

Anders traced where he remembered some scars. She shivered, squirmed under his touch. He reached up to plump bosoms and squeezed, relished as she conformed to _his_ hands. _Made himself moan._ Traced a nipple, rolled the other. When her breath caught, he plucked, watched her face. Bent his knees and took a breast in his mouth. Her gasp turned to a whine as he sucked, _pulled._ He bit until he drew falsetto, squeezing the other breast. Pressed against her back to smother himself with her, tried to swallow her, _bit her again._ Groaned when fingers gripped his hair and pulled. Hips rocked beneath. Anders bent his back to bring his groin between her legs. It didn’t matter his pants were still on, their bodies sought each other anyway. He lapped and sucked again, pinched and rolled the other teat. With a whine of protest, Tess fell from his mouth in a smack.

He pulled her head down as he rose, dragging his bulge against her on the way up. Eyes met between kisses, between tongues and bit lips. “You were always beautiful,” he told her. She winced and tightened her arms around his neck. Kissed him deeper. _Tender._ A kiss for _him._

Mouth to hers, he raked his hands down and grabbed the push of her bottom. A breathless moan vibrated through to his lips at her throat. Anders picked her up, kept her to him with teeth and with tongue. Held her to him as his knees sank on the bed. Cradled her head as they fell. He pulled back only to remove his pants, never straying from her eyes even when _hers_ fell with the drop of his smalls. Stolen breath was the music of the room. She whispered to him and reached out. Anders returned in no time.

She was impatient. Tess kept trying to hike her legs up, tried to climb him till angle penetrated without effort. Anders grinned into her mouth. She didn’t want a thing to do with _all the time in the world tonight._ He had to reach down and pin her legs apart before she stopped. He laughed at the roll of her eyes when he sat back and said he wanted to enjoy the night. Making a woman yearn for him never got old.

Though now, with everything that happened, it wasn’t just yearning. Desire held a much broader meaning now because of her. Right now she desired his cock, but during the day, out past the garden, in the rain, she desired much more than that. His hand, his _smile._ He wasn’t just a _magic cock_ to her. Knowing that made every stroke and kiss better than he imagined.

Tickling down her legs drew her knees up around him. Anders sat _surrounded_ by her. Beyond heaving breasts and parted lips, emerald eyes stared back, equal parts impatient and adoring. She was already breathless, and he hadn’t gotten to the fun stuff yet.

Anders watched her eyes as he reached again. Pushed on her thighs to open her for him, and leaned his head to watch himself play. He moved dusky curls aside, tangling, feeling, looking as her lover; not healer. Anders laid down and settled himself, angling his hips to make room for his erection. Her breath caught when he spread her lips and dipped a finger.

“You aren’t tired of being down there?” Tess asked. Because of her exams.

Anders leaned his head against her thigh with a grin. “What, you don’t _want_ me to braid your hair now?” he teased.

“Oh my fucking--” Her face scrunched with quiet laughter. Anders giggled into her thigh, squeezing it from the other side.

He moved his fingers. Tess flinched with an almost silent gasp. He glanced up again. His fingers slick with her thick gloss, Anders spread her apart up, _she stifled a noise,_ stretching soft skin up over her clitoris. Exposed her.

He hadn’t looked at her from this angle before, not when she was ready for sex. Right now, she was far removed from the patient he’d needed to examine every day. She smelled different now, different from when she healed. Rich feminine musk. _Sweet_ to his nose. Her little pink button bared herself to him, ready for overstimulation.

Tess tensed beneath him. “Anders-”

He cut her off with his tongue. Tess gasped; the bedding beneath them scrunched away from him. He wet her, a long lap with his tongue. Flicked. Wriggled the tip of his tongue.

_“Oh shit!”_ A sudden strong grip on his hair startled him; so sudden it rang with alarm. Tess trembled beneath him.

Anders studied her face. She looked caught in surprise and disbelief. “What? What’s wrong?”

Her jaw quivered from breath that flexed her belly and jiggled her breasts. Her brows were stuck upturned. “I ne- I-- Never felt it. Not--” She swallowed and fell back against the pillows. Anders stared. He almost couldn’t see her face over her heaving chest. “Not since Lo- Loghain.” The man who fried her womb.

Lover or not, Tess was his friend, and a person Anders worked hard to keep from harm. “Are you serious?” he asked. He knew little about the Hero of River Dane other than he went crazy during the Blight and died disgraced. And what he’d done to Tess. The man hadn't been satisfied frying her womb, he deprived her of being pleasured too? Anders hated him more now. Tess answered his question with a nod, pushing herself back up on her elbows. She wet her mouth between deep breaths. “So have you even - _oh_ wait. The _sheep_ bladder thing.”

Tess slapped her hands over her face, embarrassed and laughing. Anders couldn’t wipe his grin away. When she dared to peek again, Anders bit his lip. He balled his fist, then flicked his hand open and whispered _Boom!_

“Oh Maker!” She tried to fight a blush.

Anders laughed. “Are you sure this is a good time to call on the Maker?” he teased.

Trying to force her pink cheeks and giggles into a frown, she reached down and swatted the side of his head. Anders giggled again. He caught her palm with a kiss before she laid back. “Stop bringing up my awkward analogizes and just - keep doing what you were doing!” she said in breathless huffs.

Anders laughed. “Yes, Madam.”

He slid back to her centre, still smiling. Anticipating the pleasure and sounds he’d cause was exciting. He reached down and adjusted himself so he could rub on the bed while he peaked her. Eyes still on her, he moved her curls, and made a show of sticking his tongue out. The first lick evoked a thick moan and returned her fingers to his hair. Anders pursed his lips around the tiny nub and sucked. She tried to muffle drawn pules; Anders didn’t want her to. He drew her in with his tongue, past his teeth till she shuddered at his face and jerked on his hair. Grin on his face, Anders held her between his teeth and looked up. Her fingers flexed around his scalp, hips starting a slow rock around him. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the nub in his teeth, _unhurried,_ sucking her in, pushing the hood so he had room to play. She withdrew air with a tight jaw. Blind anticipation painted her face in desire. Anders loved that look; everyone wore it different, and little compared to knowing _he_ caused it. With it tight in his teeth, he fluttered at her clit, _pushed_ it, drowned it in saliva and beat against it again.

The tremors through her hips called straight to his sack. Anders pressed against the bed before reaching down to grip himself. He rocked into his hand while he sucked and strummed, hurried at her knot like a race to the finish, _squeezed_ and made himself groan while she protruded from his teeth. A growl of urgency left his throat and he moved harder, in his hand and against her. Pushed her tiny head around, buried his face, nibbled, sucked her back in and held her tight to flick again. Whines and gasps filled the room like music, her _smells_ an incense that fueled his shaft. He tightened his fist, thrust faster, prodded his tongue at the pinprick eye and drubbed. A violent tremor possessed her thighs and she cried out, yanking his hair so hard it throbbed his erection and pulled her from his mouth.

_“Oh, Tess,”_ it came out a disappointed sigh. _So close._ He couldn’t help a smile, though. Her innocence to _this_ added to her appeal.

“Is that normal? Am I _supposed_ to do that?” So short of breath she almost couldn’t talk.

Anders huffed a laugh. “If you _don’t_ do it, I should be _ashamed_ and _try_ harder.”

“Hard- harder?” she echoed.

He stretched his grin. Frustrating as the void right now, but adorable. “You couldn’t let me finish?”

Still breathless, her eyes flicked beyond his, then back. _“You_ finish, or _me_ finish?” It might have been an accusation.

Anders laughed. She’d been watching him rut. _“Yes.”_ He nodded. She tried to scoff, but a laugh sank her shoulders to the bed. Anders interrupted her giggles with another lap of his tongue, creating another shudder of need. She called to him in a breathless moan. _Worth it._

It wasn’t hard to bring her back up. Tess was eager to feel a climax she’d never known possible. Anders held her clit to his teeth, rubbed it along, _bit;_ she seemed to like that. He sucked and strummed the length exposed in his mouth, moving with her hips to keep her in place. _He rubbed himself against the bed._ She rocked wide, seeking more of him, asking with her hips for him to fill her depths. Anders moaned, _more ready than she knew,_ smothered himself, breathed in her desire. Flicked again, _sucking,_ twisting his lips around her. Below his chin he drew his fingertips around her core. He ran his hand up to feel her hair, grabbing curls and he descended. Silky, tender skin gave way to his touch, glazed walls already polished her entry. Anders slid two fingers in and turned; Tess whined and nodded. _Where she wanted him._

“Oh hey, look where my fingers are again!” He grinned for her.

Tess scoffed a laugh and swatted the back of his head. _“Just lick me!”_ she said through her teeth. Anders laughed so hard he couldn’t even muffle himself against her.

He curled his fingers into the soft cushion inside her; a song of sheer pleasure rang through the room. Anders smiled and prodded again. Thrust up into her _magic_ spot, twisting while he plunged. He dipped his tongue in along his fingers and moaned, _sweet and bitter from the source tugged his cock,_ spread her cream on her clit and flicked again. Sucked her in, lingered his thrust till pressure on her pillow made her curl up, _both hands gripped his head,_ held her in his teeth again and wagged the tip of his tongue as fast as he could her body gave in. Hips thrashed so hard Anders giggled trying to keep her still.

_“Holy shit!_ Is _that_ fucking supposed to happen?

_“Tessssss!”_ Anders groaned and chuckled again. _“Yes,_ it’s supposed to happen. This many interruptions is getting borderline clinical.” But he grinned at her. He loved every vexing second. He could take it out inside her. _It would be incredible._

“You’re a _doctor._ I _daresay-”_

Anders cut her off with a loud laugh. “We’ll _know,_ all right? If it’s not supposed to happen, it would hurt. Not like it’s your most sensitive body part,” he teased.

“What if I _like_ a little pain?” Her face showed all too well she yearned for the pleasure he kept trying to bring her. Anders laughed, burying his face in her curls.

He groaned, though, inhaling her scent and slipping his fingers in again. “Just let me take you there, Tess.” He wanted her to orgasm almost more than she might. He moaned along with when he pulled out to brush her with her own gloss.

She gasped as it surged. Anders peeked. Her eyes locked on the faint purple glow at his fingers, anticipation blaring from her brow to clenching belly. He watched her as he brought his foggy violet finger to her clitoris, cooed when her mouth dropped and eyes rolled. He grazed the tip of his finger around, letting tiny bolts do all the work, breathing to the rhythm of her circling hips. Anders slid his finger down and converged with his mouth. With charged fingers he plummeted, wet the swollen nub and sucked again, fighting the clench at her hot pouch to find just the right spot. A sound from deep in her throat lit his core; he felt the bedding dampen beneath his crown. He strengthened the little cloud of lightning inside her and _consumed_ her clit through a bite. A tight belly brought her up in a rigid quake.

_There she is._

_His favorite part._ The hand on his hair pulled so hard pain shivered down his spine and bucked his hips. He tightened his hold and whipped the end of his tongue until her spasms broke her falsetto to a gape. Anders watched the belly afore him in awe, reached to feel the seizing muscles beneath his hand, _he bit her again_ and flicked harder, didn’t stop till warm, sweet nectar jetted into his mouth. Anders drank up every drop. He did not move until she collapsed on the bed like a human tremor.

“Fucking take me, _did I just_ **pee** _in your_ **mouth?!!”** she forced through gasps.

Anders laughed hard, pushing himself up, wiping his chin. His erection bounced as he settled on his bum; her eyes followed it. _“No,_ no! Not it at all. Doesn’t even taste like it. It’s _sweet,_ actually. Like… honey and water.” He licked his lips. “Or melon juice. Light and sweet.” He laughed again. _“Wow,_ you were _right_ though.” He clapped his hands together so loud they echoed. “BOOM!” Another reminder of the sheep’s bladder analogy. Tess couldn’t even groan for breathing so hard. She laid there shaking her head, trying to calm her billowing chest. Anders couldn’t stop grinning.

He came over her on his hands and knees. For a moment, he soaked in her countenance. Beads of sweat peppered pink, steamy skin. Her brows were stuck upturned again. Surprise, amazement. Appreciation. He gave a chuckle when her thighs convulsed again. Anders dropped his head and put this mouth to hers.

A sigh of affection resonated through to him. He felt it like a wave washing over him. Felt like she breathed for _him._ Her hands slid up his chest, squeezed his shoulders, draping over him. Every kiss was slow, placed, _sweet._ Tongues glided in a slow dance. Hot breath steamed faces through nuzzles.

Anders almost didn’t believe it. He saw himself as if from an angle, watched him hover over this woman who desired him even before he gave her an explosive first experience with her clitoris. Most mages in the Tower rubbed themselves during hidden trysts and didn’t cling to him after; the ones he rubbed trailed him for weeks until they understood he wouldn’t do it twice. But Tess wanted him even before she knew he could play with her there. If anyone trailed him asking for sex again, he hoped it was her.

Firm fingers ran through his hair and Anders let a sound of appreciation bubble up. He broke from the kiss only to lean into her fingertips. As if reading his mind, Tess flexed her fingers and raked her nails down his scalp. He was sure she felt his hips quiver.

An adoring coo rolled off her tongue. “You’re dripping.”

“Again?” he huffed a laugh. He groaned at her nails again. “That feels amazing, though.”

“Yeah? My nails?”

Tongue and teeth on his chin brought him back down for a kiss. “Fuck yes,” he emphasized. She giggled. Anders grinned into a kiss. “And my hair pulled. I love it.”

“Like this?” She wound her fingers around his hair and yanked. Anders couldn’t stop the noise that escaped.

_“Just_ like that,” he encouraged. He met her eyes for another kiss. Anders was well aware his hips kept rocking. “And biting. I want you to bite me _as hard you can_ when I’m inside you,” he breathed.

“Even if I draw blood?”

He grinned. _“Especially_ if you draw blood.” Another noise caught his throat when hard fingertips pressed down his neck. “Teeth, nails. Leave as many marks as you want. Jerk my hair till I _scream._ Maker, there’s _nothing_ like it. Not during sex.” Shaking his head became a slow nuzzle.

Nails dug in near his navel and dragged down to his trail of hair, clenching his middle beneath her fingers. Anders groaned as her hand went right to his cock. She squeezed down the length of his shaft, circled the eye of his crown; Tess bit her lip when he hissed. When her hand disappeared and she winced, Anders looked down, and laughed. She deserted him to play with herself. Her fingers tumbled at her core, coating her in thick gloss.

“Holy shit,” she laughed almost breathless, “and I thought _you_ were wet.”

Anders laughed and pushed down for a kiss, but her hand caught his breath again. From base to cleft, she glazed him with each twist of her hand. His eyes rolled as he nodded. Breathlessness left his mouth so dry he couldn’t tell her to pull harder. Leaning on his elbows, Anders pulled his hips back, and thrust into her hand. He slid right through. _Maker._ He tried to kiss her, tried to taste the neck at his mouth, but she _squeezed like he wanted her to_ and he couldn’t stop. He rocked till he almost flew from her grip and her fist smashed against him. He held himself for a moment, grinding his sack against her knuckle, no care to the noises he made.

Holding his gaze with a gape of her own, Tess released him and reached beyond. Before he could even wonder, a nail plucked the clench of his bum and scraped down his sack. A shudder of _hunger_ dropped him onto her breast. He couldn’t play anymore, he _needed_ her. Anders pushed up to his hands and pushed hers away, reached back down to pin her knees at her sides. Tess gasped in expectation, staring back as he scooted closer on his knees. _The first thrust was always the best._ He circled his hips till his head grazed curls, preparing to lose breath. Tess raised her hips, and without a second thought, Anders plunged deep, wresting harmonious moans and a breathless curse. He pushed until her hot skin met his and their curls tangled and all she could do was gape.

Sex wasn’t priority since he awoke a Warden; no rules to test, no strain to work off. But _fuck_ it felt good. Maybe it felt better _because_ he was a Warden. Or it was the Warden staring back at him. The clench of her brow when he rolled in, the way she breathed like she had to remind herself. He thrust slow, wanting to enjoy what he could. He wanted _her_ to enjoy _him._ He wanted her invite him back in each day. Fuck the consequences. _Right now_ was worth it. He would break rules for her.

Anders strayed from her eyes only to taste. He trailed her skin with his tongue, sucking on skin turned salty from sweat. Her neck, her breasts, _grunting when he held a hard thrust,_ a mewl rang in his ear when he pulled a nipple through his teeth, nails _rasped_ his sides and made him buck inside her. Her eyes were right there when he pushed up and thrust faster. Breath picked up, brows upturned, she felt hotter, _tighter_ with each lunge. He reached down between them and plucked her clitoris. She lurched up into him with a noiseless gasp and tightened again _everywhere,_ nails sinking in his arse and back. Anders breathed through the clamp on his cock, steadying his arm to rub faster while the voice at his ear huffed soprano. Hips thrashed beneath him, grinding his balls against her. He turned, nipped her, letting his own sounds resonate. A push of his nail brought her down again, undeniable climax in the broken wail and violent tremble that locked her around him.

Anders almost couldn’t see. She _strangled him_ inside, _wetter._ He was so close, wanted it so bad, it almost drove him mad. With another shaky gasp, she curled into him, tongue on his jaw. He came back down on top of her and thrust harder, faster until his sack began to swell. Breath and grunts and her scant cries filled the room again as she cinched and froze beneath him once more. _As if she couldn’t get any fucking tighter._ Anders almost lost strength and laughed; women were so fucking lucky, it took men two rounds to peak twice. Teeth in the nape of his neck threw his own cry around the room and surged his groin. A loud curse escaped as Tess collapsed. He kissed her, slowed _just enough_ to give himself time to bring her back up to him. Affection dripped from every kiss and she held him. Sweat made skin clap with each shove, the smells around them _raw_ and carnal. Fingers dug into into backside, pushing him deeper. Tongues tripped, wet each other. Anders drove faster, _stared in her eyes; he never looked at anyone when he finished._ His balls clenched, a hard grunt shook him. Tess gasped, searching him, _anticipation,_ short of breath herself. He couldn’t help but hasten. _Faster,_ and with a loud curse, he surged, up his shaft and over the brink. Nails almost broke skin holding his stuttering hips to her core.

 

 

A heavy weight anchored inside him.

Silence filled in gaps between catching breath. Still inside her. Resting with her heat below him. _Recovering._

Something happened, something… pivotal. For _him,_ at least. He never tore from her eyes. He made it an adamant rule: he couldn’t give all of himself away. Eyes as the windows to the soul, and such; Anders believed it. Sex was personal enough as it was, but he never dared to cross that line before. There had to be _one_ part left of him to keep for himself.

He didn’t think it would affect him this deep. Maybe it was her. Maybe…

Anders let her see farther inside of him than he’s ever let anyone. He didn’t _just_ give her his seed. Didn’t even _just_ make love. It felt like he ripped himself open, opened his _soul._ He opened it and _she held it._ In that brief moment he exposed all of himself, _she_ was there, and _she slipped inside._

She was _part_ of him now, more than his magic or blood was ever part of her.

 

 

**_Anders:_ **

_I’ve never made love before. Nothing_ **close** _to love before, even with the one person I considered a friend in the Circle. Every time has been_ **only sex** _. I’ve never been allowed to_ ** _stay_** _. But here I am. She sleeps next to me. I don’t… know if it’s love, but it’s the closest I’ve come. Because of her, I_ **understand** _love now: it starts with friendship. Trust, friendship. Seeing an equal in the person before you. Wanting to see the other happy, wanting to wash pain away. Willing to_ **sacrifice** _to see the other happy._ **Passion,** _caring about what matters to her. Respecting boundaries. Bringing_ **every inch of her** _happiness. Appreciating her, make her feel_ **desired**. _Letting her see how much pleasure she brings me. Giving myself in more ways than I could imagine by_ **bringing her** _such happiness. I understand love at last._

_And I can’t even keep her. I found love at the wrong place and the wrong time._

_But… is it wrong to let myself love for_ **one** _night? I want her to know how I feel, how_ **she** _makes me feel. Even if it all ends tomorrow; which it may. I want her to know. I want… to tell her “I love you”. Just once._ **Show** _her what’s she’s done for me._

 

What came out instead in the stillness of the room: _“You saved me.”_

 

 

 

 

**_Meanwhile In Denerim:_ **

 

_A King stands before his bed. His room is too quiet. His hearth not warm enough. His bed too empty._

_He’s never slept alone in his bed before._

_He doesn’t know if he can._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	23. Haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Orzammar brings new challenges Tess must weigh, in all aspects of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Between the Raindrops, by Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG6-bU6esKo)  
> [Paradise, by Coldplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G4isv_Fylg)  
> [The Realm of Orzammar, Dragon Age Origins soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eo1E_aQ7ZY)  
> [Drops of Jupiter, by Train](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Xf-Lesrkuc)

 

_“Learn the hard way…” Nathaniel reads over my shoulder. Sometimes it’s annoying not to feel when Taint approaches. My cousin enjoys sneaking up on me the most. “You forgot to add you’re still bitter he abandoned and lied to you,” Nathaniel jokes in sharp satire and a straight face. He nods to the letter and nudges my shoulder._

_I roll my eyes. “Are you packed?” I ask._

_“Yes. Horses are packed, Justice keeps asking if dwarves are slaves, and Oghren’s already drunk. I expect a thrilling experience.”_

_“Orzammar’s nice._ **Nicer** _if you don’t need to enter the Deep Roads. Which we don’t, this time.” I roll the parchment up and tie thin twine around it._

_“I’m curious to see the Deep Roads one day, though,” he says. A crisp green apple breaks under his teeth._

_“Eh.” I scrunch my nose. The sealing wax begins to shine like water at the candle flame. “You might have to tie me up and drag me by a bronto. It’s not somewhere I would vacation.” I press my royal Theirin-Cousland seal into the hot wax. “It took a month just to get to the crossroads. I think. You lose track of time after the third or forth sleeping potion. And the thaigs are so crumbled you can’t just take a straight route. And filth. Darkspawn filth. Really, I don’t miss it,” I rush, shaking my head._

_Nathaniel chuckles. “And Orzammar is much different?” he says while he chews._

_“_ **Orzammar** _has filtered air, a tavern, and fresh meat. And no darkspawn.” I blow on the seal and wave the scroll as I stand._

 _“You said you haven’t been back in years? How do you_ **know** _what’s still there?”_

_“I don’t. I assume, since Bhelen still sends us letters, that he is still King and Orzammar hasn’t changed much.”_

_“Us,” he echoes._

_I bend over to push a foot in my riding boots. “Yes, us. The letters are addressed to both me and Alistair.”_

_Nathaniel watches me pull the other boot on. “Are we ready now? At long last?”_

_I lick my tooth at my cousin._ **“Yes,** _wise-ass.”_

_“Good. If you walk out the door quick enough, I might even buy you a souvenir when we get there.” He flicks my ear on his way out._

_“No no no!” I shake my head and follow him, tying my traveling cloak. “Oh! Varel!” I waylay to press the scroll into his hands. “This goes out_ **today,** _to Alistair, in Denerim. Safe is open, three to the courier. We’re_ **leaving,** _send a search party if we’re not back in one month - that’s a_ **joke,** _I’m_ **sure** _we’ll be fine,_ **don’t** _let Woolsey hire more merchants,_ **Maker,** _we’ve got no fucking room! Keep Master Wade happy please, I don’t want to return to cinders and a full pout!” I hurry after my cousin, sure I left the Seneschal standing speechless. “No no, Nathaniel,” I step out the doors into the Keep’s open foyer, “I_ **don’t** _need any more souvenirs from that place. I already left with two golems, a hundred-sovereigns-worth of naughty toys, and more scars than I can count.”_

_“And now all those scars are healed. And then some.” Anders. I stop and turn, butterflies in my chest and already smiling. His voice alone sets my insides aflutter. He smiles back and fastens his own traveling cloak. “Do they have other golems there?”_

_“Not that I know of. Unless Branka or Shale returned.”_

_His face falls a little. “Oh, that is disappointing.”_

_“If… I liked the idea of starving to death, I’d say we could detour through the Deep Roads to the Anvil of the Void where there still should be gigantic golem corpses.”_

_He winces in pretend thought. “Starving to death? As attractive as that sounds, I’m going to have to say no.”_

_I giggle. “Not worth it. It is_ **so** _last year’s fashion.”_

_He grins at me. “Excited?”_

_I can’t help another giggle. “Does it show?”_

_“Only a bit,” he teases, shaking his head. “It’s sweet on you.” Anders holds out his arm, like all the times he took me for walks through the gardens. The butterflies stir inside me. He squeezes a hand over mine when I hold his arm. “I’m excited too. As crazy as Dagna is, the way she spoke of Orzammar sounds incredible. Aside from the fact she was utterly bored by the idea of anything down there. Statues that tower over trees? Boring. Hot lava almost within reach below the floor? Boring?”_

_Another giggle bursts up and I giggle into his arm. “Hot Lava is the name of the sex shop!” I whisper._

_“Is it really?” He grins._

_I nod. “I want to get Nathaniel a penis lamp! They’re this tall!” I hiss, holding up my hands. Anders throws his head back in a laugh that echoes._

_“Oh, Maker!” He wipes the corner of his eye, grin as wide as his face. “This is already the best vacation!”_

_Anders is in part right._

_Journeying is fun and refreshing. Riding, hunting, hilarious stories. The boys peck at each other and me again. Po tries to play with Ser Pounce-a-Lot like he’s a puppy, not a cat. Giggles and exploding laughter. Memories of growing up or abroad, and philosophical debate. Oghren explains what makes Paragons more efficient to revere than gods. To emphasize the magnitude of dwarven inventions, I tell the boys of the oil troughs Alistair had built in to the walls of the palace; permanent replacement for torches and candles in main halls we first discovered in Ortan thaig. Running water is next on the list of dwarven-inspired improvements. Dwarven technology, when I’m not neck deep in their politics or starving in the Deep Roads, is sometimes beyond mind-boggling._

_After tents are up and meat roasts over a roaring fire, Anders practices the spells Velanna taught him. He lights up his space of darkness with a faint healing spell, and concentrates away from us till vines wiggle up from the ground. Once, when he was distracted by conversation, the vines didn’t reach up far enough and yanked his pants off instead of shrouding him. He fell to the ground with a rash down his leg and uncontrollable laughter. We laughed so hard Oghren and Nathaniel fell off their sitting stumps and I almost cut myself polishing my dagger. Determined to master Dalish magic, Anders practices even when we stop for breaks. By the second night, Anders has the hang of it. He summons vines and roots up around his body and disappears with a loud crack beneath the ground. His first successful trip through soil ended with a loud laugh of triumph. Each crack and explosion of nature makes the horses snort and Po grumble in irritation._

_One of Anders’ many trips, he explodes up from the ground right in front of me, interrupts my scream with a kiss and a grin, and holds me close while vines close around us. I can’t see a thing but there’s an undeniable sensation of moving. Anders kisses me deeper, holds me tighter when I try to speak. Then we stop, and the night world comes back into view like a blanket fell from around me. We’re farther from camp behind the horses now. He plucks a leaf from my hair with a smile and kisses me again, sweet and slow, and says he has_ **so** _many ideas for us._

 _While we ride, Anders holds my hand, and by the fire at night. I’m learning to ask first before I kiss him. In the Circe he was approached and groped without warning, even stalked. He felt smothered. Often he had to take care where he let his eyes roam, for if he caught the wrong gaze, it was taken as silent consent and someone tried to pull him aside. He sometimes wakes up and must remind himself he’s not in the Circle anymore. It’s easier for him if_ **he** _initiates affection. While he’s comfortable with me, and our party, it’s not so easy to forget the life he tried so hard to escape._

_When he kisses me, Anders reminds me I saved him._

_My mind wanders to all my time at Kinloch Hold, during the Blight and before. I’ve never seen the Circle from a mage’s-eye view. I wonder now if it was worth saving the Circle at all during the Blight. I can’t help thinking if I’d just let the abominations kill everyone, Anders would have been free years ago. He never would have had to spend a year in solitary confinement. I feel guilty. I feel like I could have prevented his imprisonment._

_The idea of this perfect vacation did not include the obstacles._

_On the North Road near Knotwood Hills we find remains of a horse and darkspawn arrows. A torn blood-stained satchel holds a faded ripped letter. Nathaniel finds a scrap not ruined by stains and holds it up. I can only stare at the cold wax button: the Theirin-Cousland seal. It means Alistair sent more letters. Letters he never told me about. Letters that should have arrived at Vigil’s Keep. There’s no way to tell who it was intended for, but it challenges my perspective. Did I overreact? Did I just_ **imagine** _him abandoning me? Is our whole separation_ **my** _fault? Did Alistair write me yet I never got it because darkspawn saw to the courier’s fate?_

 _Though… why did Alistair not_ **tell** _me he’d written when I confronted him in Wending Wood? When he learned how I felt, why did he not tell me what I needed to know? Why did he_ **let** _me keep hurting? Why didn’t he want me to know he’d written me?_

 _Then Kinloch Hold comes into view. Anders stares at The Circle he escaped from, his brow sinking the closer we ride. His hand tightens around mine as his breath picks up, both escalating in pulses. Anders is panicking. I can’t even ask what he needs right now, seeing him like this reminds me of every time_ **I’ve** _panicked over a memory. There are little words for such fear in one’s chest._

_Nathaniel is the hero of the day: he declares a race to West Hill. He says nothing about Anders’ anxiety, but when I catch his gaze, Nathaniel’s eyes say it all. He distracted Anders till the scenery changed. The Circle tower is hidden from sight by West Hill’s tall city gates. Whether Anders figured Nathaniel’s motive, I am grateful on his behalf._

_West Hill is a quaint town. Not as cozy or happy as Rainesfere - or as Redcliffe now is, thanks to Teagan - but new and, as Nathaniel intended, a change. While Anders and I peruse trade wares and Po sniffs his way around, Nathaniel turns back to ride in with Oghren and Justice; it’s easy to forget others are taken aback by Justice’s body. A small town, but a view of the Waking Sea and Highever instead of a Circle, and West Hill is fond of trinkets._

_Bann Franderel announces a loud welcome to the Queen of Ferelden before Anders and I can step into the inn. Anders chuckles at the scowl on my face before I compose myself and turn around and greet the Bann as Queen. This prim Bann makes a display of bowing before taking my hand in a kiss. He makes no mention of my missing scars, but his eye flicks to my cheek; Maker I didn't know_ **not** _having a scar would be annoying. Though I insist we are here as Grey Wardens, Franderel will have nothing of it. He insists we rest in his manor._

_While the comforts of a hot bath and proper meal are welcome, it strains us where we didn’t need. If the townsfolk recognized me before Franderel yelled out my name, they did not behave so. It might have been a simple, quiet night. In a tavern when no one recognized me, I could have spent the night with Anders without question. But in the Bann’s home, servants busy around us. I wanted at least to make sure Anders felt okay after seeing Kinloch Hold. I had not seen him so anxious before._

_After a long supper of feigned cheer and annoying formalities, I retire for the night. There are little books and far too many sweets and wines for one person to choose from. Nothing else. I sit in a room of a house I don’t recall sleeping in before, while Franderel_ **entertains** _the boys with reserves in his parlor. I can hear his laughter as if the parlor was next door, not halls away. I giggle to myself at my boys enduring the Bann insisting more drinks and noble humor even Nathaniel might not know._

_When a hand raps at my door, I swear my heart thumps into my gut. I’m more relieved to find Anders - and, as I lock the door behind him, I ache. Letting him in will have caught the eye of someone, no doubt. Anders even apologizes for any slander to my reputation this will cause, but he wants to stay with me tonight._

_He says I’m the only one who understands what it’s like to see a cage he thought he escaped._

_He lets me take care of him tonight. Anders has tried to separate me from things he’s done with girls at the Circle or in brothels, but tonight he lets me do what I want. He lets me melt his mind to make him forget where he is. And for the first time, he wants me to hold him after._

_The Circle still has his phylactery. He says it was the reason he came to Amaranthine in the first place. A contact told him Templars moved it to a warehouse in the market square. But he never found it. The Templars found him instead. Anders hugs me tighter and says_ **he means it** _every time he says I saved him._

_Even then, he’s still afraid they’ll come for him again. He’s afraid the Templars will make their own laws to go around Grey Warden immunity. Anders is afraid of becoming prisoner again just for being born different. The Templars will not be merciful next time._

_I’ve never given thought on phylacteries before. Hearing him talk like this make me consider how petty my own concerns are. A Queen who is treated as Queen; not as a free warrior, or even Grey Warden. I’m treated as a Queen_ **should** _be; the audacity. Yet Anders cannot escape as I can whenever I want. There is no one storing my blood away. No one uses my blood to scry for my location. No one will lock me in a tower if I go back to the palace. My life and my worries, on both grand and minute scale, are nothing compared to Anders’._

_I know of only one way to correct his problem. I must enforce myself as Queen and Commander of the Grey. As the Warden who killed the Archdemon. I must return to Denerim regardless. And I may need to threaten the the Grand Cleric._

_Maker help me, and have mercy. Finding Anders’ phylactery may start a holy war. I pray it doesn’t come to that._

 

 

 _Approaching Orzammar is the change Anders needs. What we_ **all** _need. As when I approached during the Blight, the magnanimous doors transport us to another another realm. I’m so excited to return it does not irk me when guards send someone to announce_ **the royal visit** _to King Bhelen. Nothing else matters anymore. Everything on the surface ceases to exist the moment we step into the Commons. Flowing lava river, lava falls, the Proving arena. More gold, marble, sparkling stone, and giant statues than any of us have ever seen. Orzammar is still the only place_ **I’ve** _seen the like. Oghren and me grin at each other when our boys take a loud unanimous gasp._

_I nudge Nathaniel. “Better than books, right?”_

_“You weren’t fucking kidding,” he mutters in awe. He cranes his neck to look way up beyond the Diamond Quarter._

_“Sod,” I correct. “Down here, it’s Sodding, not Fucking.” I’m aware my eyes keep following the collective facial hair around me. From face to face to face like instinct._ **“Maker,** _Ogh, I forgot how many_ **beards** _were down here.”_

_Oghren chuckles. “Yep, I remember those days. Good times.”_

_Last time I was here, I had Alistair’s beard to indulge in._

_And I remember I’m here now not as Alistair’s wife but as… an unfaithful wife._

_Sod this all to the fucking void! I came here for_ **holiday,** _not to remember how horrible a wife I am these days._

_As I brush my conscience away like a fly, a voice I’m sure I’ll never forget rings through the air._

_“Grey Wardens! Welcome!”_

_I turn and walk towards King Bhelen before I even realize I’m grinning. It’s harder to only walk than I expected. Po beats me to him, greeting with the loudest barks he can manage, pulling shrieks of surprise from busy shoppers. Neither of us thought we’d return._

_“My favorite Queen.” Bhelen smiles, holding out a hand to take mine. Seeing Bhelen in person resurfaces nine months of almost dying together, for us both. He’s even happy to see Oghren and my dog._

_Introductions are short and lack what formalities Bhelen can afford. He makes us promise to head to the palace when we’re ready to eat, but a King in his land is never off duty. Bhelen assigns guards to our horses outside before returning to the Diamond Quarter with his patrol of strict bodyguards._

_But as I look around again, unable to decide where I want to go first, I’m reminded of Alistair again. The first and last time I was here, it was with my husband. Satinalia. Discovering Orzammar together was our Satinalia present to each other. Every stall we browse, I went here with Alistair. Merchant faces are all that have changed. The tavern hasn’t changed. The same nug wrangler runs about. Even pointing out to Anders the smithy shop of Dagna’s father doesn’t make me forget my husband. I thought a wander through Dust Town would distract me with its stench and poverty, but as we pass around sovereigns to the Castleless, I think of Alistair. I remember him passing silvers around; and later helping the Alienage. I remember him growing ill in the Carta tunnels._

_I remember holding my husband under the stars and falling snow._

_Anders watches me. I see him from the corner of my eyes. He knows what I meant as a holiday has become instead a trip down memory lane. Anders knows I miss and love my husband down here._

_The tavern doesn’t help. Eight shots of the strongest dwarven vodka and three ales don’t do what I need it to. To the void with this Taint sometimes, I swear it. Can’t sodding drink problems away like I used to._

_The Shaperate doesn’t help either. Alistair and I longed to visit the dwarven catalogs, our first trip. It was another discovery we made_ **together.** _Dwarven history we’d not learned on the surface. Succession of dwarven technology the surface hasn’t come close to touching. Dwarven folk tales and children’s stories we were allowed to copy so we could tell our future daughters…_

_The reason I wanted a new womb in the first place._

_I can’t go anywhere here without remembering my husband and how much I loved him._

_How much I_ **still** _love him. How much I’ve tried to forget I don’t want him anymore._

_How much I’ve hurt him._

_I need a moment. A long fucking moment. I don’t even realize I’m already running when Anders and Nathaniel yell for me. The only place I know to go where I won’t run straight into people is through the mining tunnels. Through till the end and past the old metal doors._

_Into the Deep Roads._

_Anders’ voice follows me. My feet don’t stop. Dwarves and carts and jumping around surprised cries. I’m not even sure I’m going the right way anymore. I just need to get away from this place that has my husband written all over it._

_When my feet finally stop and my knees hit stone, I am alone. The tall square columns and tended bricks of the old underground highway stand before me. Ornamental streams of lava hiss and crack from either side of the old stone I kneel on. A tunnel mouth up ahead reeks of the Taint and Darkspawn filth. I remember this place. It began nine months of sweltering, living nightmares._

_Anders’ voice echoes. Something heavy and metal clanks against more metal or stone. I don’t move. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop my chest hurting._

_All this fucking power from the Archdemon, and I can’t even calm myself._

_Anders is gasping when he slides to his knees next to me. “Maker’s breath, Tess! You can’t just go running off into the Deep Roads!” He doesn’t pull me up or drag me away, though. With a sigh, Anders scoots closer and pulls me in his arms, and lets me cry._

_When I can finally breathe without gasping, it feels like hours. Hours crying in the Deep Roads. Maker, what kind of Warden am I?_

_The lucky kind, I guess. I_ **should** _feel lucky. No darkspawn have attacked. Now would have been the perfect time to get revenge on the one who killed the Archdemon._

 _But I’m not so lucky. Am I? I wasn’t supposed to survive killing the Archdemon. Everything that's happened since surviving as a_ **Warden...**

_“I’m sorry.” I sit back and wipe my face. I don’t know if I’m still crying or if it’s the heat._

_“You don’t need to apologize, Tess.” Anders smooths my hair and tucks it behind my ears._

_I nod. “I do. I thought…” a deep breath pulls my chest. “I thought it would be like visiting Amaranthine, you know? But_ **fun.** _A new place for you all to see, and…” I wipe my hands across my eyes again. It’s not the heat. “I thought it was someplace_ **we** _could see_ **together.** _But_ **everything** _here reminds me of Alistair. We went through the_ **whole city** _during the Blight. There’s not a place I can take_ **you** _here that I haven’t gone with_ **him.** _I can’t stop thinking of him. I’m so sorry!”_

 _“Hey.” He moves my chin with his fingers. Anders smiles for me. That same sad smile he gave me at Vigil’s Keep when Alistair was still around. “I know what I got myself into, Tess. I know how you feel about him. Nothing…” he wets his lips. “Nothing you and I do will change everything you went through with him. I_ **know** _that.” He gives another sad smile. “I can’t say I wasn’t hoping you’d run away with me one last time.” His thumb slides across my jaw. “But I already knew. I_ **know** _one day I’ll watch you walk away with him. If you_ **do** _want to run away with me, I won’t object..." His shoulders rise in a small shrug. "But I know better. I have no illusions, Tess. I never have.”_

_I can’t speak for a moment. Anders moves his hands up my face to wipe tears away. I can’t believe he got so involved when he knew it wouldn’t last. “And you stayed anyway?”_

_His face distorts in heartbreak and sadness I feel in myself. Anders is too empathetic for his own good._ **“You saved** _me, Tess. I will always be where_ **you need me.** _Whether it’s…” he glances around. “here in… I’m guessing the safest part of the Deep Roads-” he smiles when a broken laugh escapes me. “- or at Vigil’s Keep. At the creek. Or the road. On another darkspawn operation table.” He rests a hand over my heart, and puts mine to his chest. Like how he helps me breathe to center myself. I feel his heart thudding against my palm._ **“You saved me,”** _it comes out broken. Like it means something much more emotional to him than it sounds to my ears. “I want to be wherever you go. Even if it means not running with you one last time.”_

 _I’ve saved plenty of people. None of them feel compelled to follow me. But Anders… is he saying…? He’s not trying to say I_ **saved** _him..._

 _My eyes water again faster than I can blink. Oh, Maker, why are You doing this? Why did You make my heart big enough to love two men? Why are You testing me like this?_ **What** _is the_ **point?**

 _I suspect I’m the only Queen in Thedosian history who married for love. I understand why noble marriage is only business, now. Marriage is a business and love is on the side,_ **always** _separate. My parents and brother broke that practice like glass; and stood out in the world because of it. They taught me love is more noble than a title but they never taught me what challenges come with it. They never taught me someone else could walk in with love when my first love made me cry and I’d have to choose. No one warned me_ **recuperating** _love could be as real as my_ **first** _love. They never warned me love would_ **interfere** _with anything._

_It’s easier now with Anders holding my hand. Easier to walk back and face memories I never knew would haunt me. If he cares how Orzammar looks at him, he doesn’t show it._

_When we cross the bridge to the Proving grounds, Anders stops and asks if I have memories of this spot. Where our feet stand. He wants to know if anything significant happened here. When I say no, Anders pulls me in and kisses me. Before all of Orzammar. While still he kisses me, I feel his mana swell. And still kissing me, he releases three spells in a row. Then a crackling explosion. I look up to find small fireworks over my head. Red, purple and green bounce and sizzle off each other like falling glow worms. Anders smiles for me, and holds me close while his lips push mine again. So beautiful my heart soars._

_Anders is making a new memory for me in this place. I almost cry all over again._

_I don’t know what I would do without Anders. Save for holding my hand, he’s doing everything he did before I got a new womb. He’s here being a friend, support. Like when the boys followed me to Blackmarsh when I needed friends. As long as Anders doesn’t kiss me, Nathaniel holds my other hand. My boys walk through this city with me like they sit with me in camp. Making me smile as usual when they keep me in the middle. Silly boy things like Nathaniel pulling one direction and Anders pulling me another, each feigning pure interest in opposite attractions until they giggle at my yelp. I don't know what I'd do without_ **them.**

 

 

_Dinner with King Bhelen isn’t as awkward as I expected, either. Anders entertains little Prince Endrin with tiny fireworks while others strike conversation. Nathaniel talks sport with dwarven crossbowmen. Bhelen’s mistress Rica, expecting her second child, tells me the laughable discomforts of pregnancy. They try to explain the Caste system and stubborn Assembly to my boys when Nathaniel asks why Rica isn’t eligible for marriage. Easier to explain why mages and elves are not eligible for nobility in surface countries, though Anders as a Grey Warden ruling Amaranthine is proof blood and birth status can be disregarded with the right loophole._

_Before supper, Bhelen asked me in private where Alistair was. I spent a good moment tongue-tied before I managed to say “It’s complicated.” Bhelen, who made himself part of our party during the Blight, knows there is much more to it than It’s Complicated. He doesn’t even need to ask. He was there through everything in the Deep Roads: when Alistair forgot I was Tess, when Alistair blew up at me for interrupting his daydream, when Alistair cried because I dipped in raw lyrium. When we almost starved to death and sat with broken bones and festering wounds. When Alistair repeated his marriage vows because he thought we would die. Bhelen tried to help us remember what the Deep Roads stole from us, back then. He studied me and said he had a feeling Complicated isn’t the half of it. I’m glad he didn’t ask me to explain. I don’t think I could have done so without sobbing all over him._

_Now, this Dwarven King, whom many in Orzammar call ambitious and unsympathetic, avoids or plays careful words when he asks of Ferelden’s prosperity. I’m glad to know I earned his respect during our nine months in the Deep Roads. I can’t imagine the humiliation he’d throw on me now if I hadn’t._

_It’s not until I ask how Kardol and the Legion of the Dead hold up do the tides of emotion change. Bhelen says the Legion rebuilt after the Blight. Many Castleless who survived the surface fight returned to join the Legion. The horrors of fighting never-ending darkspawn made them proud to defend Orzammar. Bhelen has only good words about them, and prides in the Casteless proving their worth._

_The Legion, however, is not in Orzammar at the time. Last Bhelen heard from them was months ago, when Kardol reported in before leaving. Heavy darkspawn activity in the old thaig of Kal’Hirol needed investigating. It concerned the Legion enough to want to head off without supplies. Bhelen convinced them to wait long enough to restock, but he grew concerned as weeks went by. The Legion had not yet returned, though Bhelen felt they should have._

_“Kal’Hirol… I don’t remember that thaig. Did we pass through it during the Blight?” I ask._

_He shakes his head. “It’s a a thaig far to the east.” Bhelen spreads salted butter on a square dinner roll. “Some distance south and east of Ortan thaig. You remember that one.” It's not a question. Too many things happened in that place. That was where Alistair lost himself to Fade dreams and took it out on me. We met Ruck, who threw me off balance with his strong Taint and made it easy for the Archdemon to lull me away. It was where glowing slime attacked Zevran’s legs. It was also where I gained the huge, now-absent scar on my right cheek. “Kal’Hirol may be visible from the surface, now that I think on it. The last survey reported it was beginning to crumble.”_

_“Crumble?” Nathaniel perks up. “Like a cave-in?”_

_“Well, that report was years ago, when my father was King,” Bhelen speaks through a bite. “I haven’t seen it myself, but Kal’Hirol was built too close to the surface and is a full thaig. It was meant for learning, unlike residential Ortan. If it crumbles, it may create a gorge, and the thaig - and all that’s in it - will be exposed to the surface.”_

_“Gorge?” Anders looks to Nathaniel and me. “Like the one in Knotwood Hills?”_

_I stare at Anders for a moment. A crumbling gorge with heavy darkspawn activity sounds like the lead from those drunk men in Amaranthine. “Do… you happen to have a map with its location?” I look back to Bhelen._

_Bhelen nods and wipes cloth across his mouth and beard. He snaps his fingers. “Map!” he calls out. “Full map!” Two dwarves rush off, then return a moment later and unfold a large map of the entire Deep Roads. They hold the map in the air where Bhelen can reach it from his seat. “Here we are,” Bhelen points. He traces his finger along a set of squiggles and lines; the mapped tunnels and ruins of the Deep Roads. “Here is Caridin’s Cross. Over here, Aeducan thaig, that’s under the channel._ **Water,** _that is, under the channel between the Sea and the Ocean. Over here…” his finger dots along, “to Ortan, right below Cadash.” He taps a faded path off to the east of the map. “Kal’Hirol. This is where records show the entrance is.”_

_Nathaniel leans over to fumble with a pouch on his belt. “This is accurate? In relation to direction, I mean? Orzammar is northwest, that Cadash Thaig is West, the Anvil place is south?” He unfolds a map of Ferelden as he stands. “Anders, help me hold this up.” Nathaniel holds his map above Bhelen’s. Anders wiggles out of the short stone chair to hold and compare maps with Nathaniel._

_“That it is. Kardol traced the Anvil - you remember Bownammar. How can we forget?” Bhelen glances at me. “The Dead Trenches; below Bownammar. That’s where the darkspawn gathered._ **Past** _Bownammar was the Broodmother.” Bhelen pauses to shudder; it makes me do the same. “Kardol met up with soldiers who chased the spawn back down after you killed the Archdemon. They had tunnels from the Dead Trenches leading up to the surface, to those ruins you call… Ottcigar?” His brow furrows in thought. “Ossagger? I hate surfacer names.”_

 **“Ostagar?** _The Dead Trenches is below Ostagar?” I scoff a sigh. “That explains why we fought them there._ **Maker.** _Duncan couldn’t have just_ **told** _us that’s where they surfaced?”_

_Nathaniel runs a finger up from where Bhelen pointed out Kal’Hirol and matches the length. It falls in line with Knotwood Hills and is not far from Vigil’s Keep. My cousin and Anders look to me at the same time._

_For a moment, I can only stare. The lead from those drunks and Kristoff’s map align with Bhelen’s entrance to Kal’Hirol. Right within Knotwood Hills._

_I take a deep breath. “King Bhelen, I believe the Grey Wardens need to rescue your Legion.” I can already see Alistair’s face when I tell him we_ **need** _to go underground after all._

_Maker help us._

_No._

_The last time I ventured to thaigs overrun with darkspawn, I came out looking like a science experiment._

_Maker help_ **me.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
>  
> 
> Parchment and wood acquired via google search/stock images.


	24. Founder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess reflects on her life and what she wants, but an unexpected visit with Fergus Cousland turns the tides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Between the Raindrops, by Lifehouse ft Natasha Bedingfield](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG6-bU6esKo)  
> [ Drops of Jupiter, by Train](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Xf-Lesrkuc)  
> [Septimus, Stardust soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVjC0GZjsOo)  
> [Uprising, by Audiomachine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r7NAgcgxzTo)

_Today is better than yesterday. I wake alone in a room I’ve never been in… and I feel good. Better than yesterday. Despite the unpleasant task ahead of me, the feeling of helplessness when I walked through the city yesterday isn’t here. Bhelen laughs when I walk through the palace halls in my complimentary dwarven night robe and dares me to greet the Diamond Quarter like this. He laughs even louder when Anders strips down into his own robe and follows me out into the realm of dwarven nobles barefoot and not quite covered. Trying to stand at the railing like we’re innocent admirers of the view is harder than I guessed with a breeze on my bum._

_Except when Anders kisses me. Slow and tender like we aren’t watched by surprised nobles and giggling noble hunters. We can’t hug each other without showing Orzammar our smalls, but my hands fit under the hem of his dwarven robe. His lips stretch against me when I hold his bottom. With another kiss and a chuckle, Anders asks if I’m having a good morning._

_King Bhelen insists on funding us for Kal’Hirol. While servants scurry around readying smoked rations and alchemy ingredients, he hosts a Proving in our honor. It’s more to distract his people from noticing he’s draining city stores than for a blessing from the Ancestors. Bhelen and I remember the Proving me and Morrigan won under Harrowmont’s name; Bhelen’s political opposition during the Blight. When Bhelen walked back in the city with my party and Paragon Branka the golem, it proved the Ancestors don’t actually bless Proving sponsors._

_Today, we watch. Anders cringes on his seat, regretting breakfast, reminds us he’s a Healer. Nathaniel peers over the railing like a young boy, eager to join. Justice wonders how Ancestors speak through taunts and what he calls_ **poor form** _on a controlled battlefield. Oghren drinks and belches; a not-so-silent show he does not care for the Ancestors’ blessings anymore. It’s not as exciting as I recall, but I try to look interested on the edge of my seat. Yelling approval of critical blows with Nathaniel seems to please the dwarves, at any rate._

_Entering Hot Lava with Nathaniel will forever stick in my brain. The look on his face makes me laugh so hard I fall on Oghren. Disbelief and horror mixed with awe Nathaniel’s embarrassed to have over the countless pretty penises all over the shop. The owner Ruby remembers me and grins in mischief when I introduce him as my cousin who is more like a brother. Anders and Oghren fall over each other laughing at Nathaniel’s face when Ruby demonstrates the massive, glowing penis lamp I buy for him._

_When I add a bead door made of rainbow glass penises for his bedroom back home, Nathaniel realizes I’m serious. He hardens his face and says if he_ **must** _carry around a glowing penis the size of his arm, he wants one anatomically correct. With a straight face, he demands a lamp with a blue rune at the testicles - something to signify his time as a Warden. And no bag - my cousin will carry around his new penis “like a man.” I almost can’t breathe for laughing so hard._

_There is more variety in stock than I remember. Oghren reminds me to buy edible rope. He says to substitute with edible lingerie when we learn the purple rope he likes is out of stock. Some of the new oils and lotions tug at my heart - they remind me of my mother, honey, vanilla, lemon and lavender. When Ruby says the oils can go in lamps and candles, I hoard a dozen to the counter._

_…Where Anders is picking out a strap-on phallus._

_I peer over as he inspects it. Beautiful swirls of purple and sky blue with a cloud of white at the head. Ruby explains while we look: polished stone coated in rubber, comes with a bottle of flavored oil._

_I eye Anders. “What do you need a penis for? You already have one,” I remind him._

_“Wasn’t that what_ **I** _asked_ **you** _not long ago?” Nathaniel speaks up. I snort trying not to laugh._

_Anders grins at me. “I’ll give you three guesses.” I only need one, and Anders laughs at the look on my face. Oghren wedges his way through and says not to forget the edible accessories. I look over to find him and Nathaniel piling an armful of sweets on the counter._

_“All right, but I’m also getting Nathaniel an insertable,” I say. I look at Ruby. “He likes dark green and marble effects.”_

_Nathaniel looks over. “Insertable?” he echoes._

_“Way to go. My room’s right next to his. Now I’ll never sleep.” Oghren makes a face._

_“And one for Oghren,” I add. Ruby grins when Oghren grumbles something about Red and Purple._

_Ruby pulls out two boxes with a chuckle. “I have just the thing.”_

_“Ooh.” Nathaniel lets go of his edible phalluses to inspect the pine green-and-white marbled hollow one. “I’ll need to figure out how to stick this in my bed. I like being on top.” The corners of his mouth twitch._

_“Cousin, you’ll want an oil, too. Those are self-warming,” I point beyond him, trying not to smile. Anders giggles hard into my shoulder._

_Then Ruby throws a bomb I’m not prepared for: a pair of deep emerald silk handkerchiefs. Like the one I used to wear on my left wrist._

_I haven’t worn one in over a year. It used to be Alistair’s. Part of him always at the end of my arm. Trust in love and love in trust. Always there when I needed him._

_Except Alistair_ **wasn’t** _where I needed him. He left me at the Keep without word for months._

_Ruby smiles and puts her hand on mine when my eyes water. She says she saved these handkerchiefs for me._

_I can’t tell if the Maker’s telling me something or needs a laugh._

 

 

 

_Returning to the surface is a breath of fresh air. While Ruby’s surprise gift threw me off, the change of scenery is refreshing. Different. Lets me reflect without inserting a pair of people who no longer exist into my surroundings._

_It’s strange admitting Alistair and I during the Blight were different people than we are now. But it’s true._

_Nathaniel offers to be an ear, or help me mutilate a trees with his bow. Anders asks what I need him to be. He will be Friend, Doctor, or Lover, or silent companion; whatever_ **I** _need. Oghren hands me his flask without words. The boys know when I need space and they don’t question it. They let me ride or wander in my thoughts. They don’t protest when I decide on a whim I’ll hunt supper. When I’m ready to join them again, they include me as if I never retreated into my mind._

_I feel I’m at a impasse in my life. A crossroads. I think I have been for awhile. Orzammar in particular reminded me I was happy with my husband once. As long as he never left and I could always feel his Taint, I was happy with him. As long as I went where Alistair knew to find me, he was happy with me._

_Then_ **he** _went where_ **I** _could not find him._

 _I never wanted to be a Grey Warden, but needing to accept my role as one opened a doorway to a world I never knew existed. It’s allowed me to change things I desperately wanted to change about myself. It let me walk the land as a capable warrior who does not feel dependent upon another to sustain my life. I can be the capable warrior San Amoldo trained me to be. A woman I always_ **wanted** _to be. An independent woman like my mother was. I_ **know** _I can take care of myself now. My scars are gone, and now I have a womb able to make a child. I don’t need to be etched with scars or run to a man whenever I’m unsure anymore._

_My husband is not happy my scars are gone. He wanted them to stay even when he knew I felt ugly with them._

_I don’t understand that. It was hard enough feeling like he left me behind for good. Couldn’t he have been_ **happy** _for me when he saw my ugly scars were gone?_ **Why** _didn’t he want me to feel beautiful?_

 _Or did he only want_ **himself** _to think I’m beautiful?_

 _… Did he only want me feeling beautiful with_ **him?** _Would it have been so bad for me to feel beautiful_ **all** _the time, rather than walk down the halls pretending I couldn’t feel my scars rubbing against fabric meant for beautiful women? Pretending I couldn’t feel the huge scar on my cheek every time a door opened and brought in breeze, or when I smiled, or ate. Or washed my face. Or when he_ **kissed** _my scars?_

 _Maker, I_ **hated** _that. No better way to remind me my body has been Death’s target practice than by_ **kissing** _my scars._

 _He never stopped either. I asked him to so many times, asked him not to touch them. He always insisted I was beautiful. But how do you forget something doesn’t exist when someone won’t stop pointing them out? I never wanted my scars to look beautiful, I wanted them gone. Why couldn’t my husband be_ **happy** _for me? For_ **me?**

_I think about Anders. I think back to when we met him. I didn’t know him, he was a mage and I didn’t trust mages. I wasn’t attracted to him then; he seemed vain and too eager to kiss ass. I wasn’t thinking when I conscripted him._

_I huff at the memory. Alistair conscripted Anders_ **for** _me. My husband manipulated the argument with the Templars so I grew frustrated with them and conscripted Anders for the aid he provided. Only after I ordered it did I realize what Alistair had done. He’s done that so many times to me, and each time I never realized until after my decisions._

_Anders is the first time it recoiled on Alistair. I could not have planned to fall in love with a mage. But here is Anders anyway. I doubt Anders could have planned becoming a Warden and growing close to a Queen. It is made clear to Circle mages they are not worthy of nobility. It hasn’t always been the case; every law has a loophole. But that is the general teaching of the Chantry outside Tevinter. Anders could not have planned to even befriend a Queen._

_Anders is the only one who knows how it feels to be treated like I am. He’s the only one who’s been treated like any moment unrestricted could bring about disaster. Anders understands what it’s like to be me. He knows how to help me through feeling trapped._

_Nathaniel doesn’t approve of adultery. He made that clear the morning after I first slept with Anders. If one marries for love, it should remain so. However, he knows Fereldan custom: marriage is a business, and love is - usually - on the side. For nobles, marriage is a_ **serious** _business. Nathaniel knows it’s common for nobles to have lovers, and bastard children; Alistair being such product. He doesn’t favor the practice, but he knows that’s how Ferelden works. He won’t challenge the Queen if her heart is outside her marriage. Of more importance, Nathaniel wants me to remain family. My cousin wants to see me_ **happy.** _He remembers how Alistair leaving and lying to me affected me. He doesn’t want me hurting like that again. Family supports family, no matter what; his words, not mine. He reminds me I’ll need to make a decision in the end, especially regarding a royal heir. But he’ll stand by me no matter what._

 _Nathaniel adds he’d rather not_ **need** _to defend me from my own husband again._

 _I don’t doubt Alistair loves me. I_ **did** _doubt - when he returned_ **a month and a half late.** _It still hurts to know_ **my husband** _did that to me. The man who_ **more** _than loves me. The man I was terrified of parting from during the Blight. After talking with him, I don’t doubt his love, but it doesn’t mean he never hurt me. Accidents and mistakes can hurt people as bad or worse than intended harm. Every time Alistair hurt me during the Blight was unintended. His latest mistake is still fresh for me._

 _I also know venturing to Kal’Hirol will frighten him even more than he already is._ **I’m** _frightened_ **too!** _I don’t want more scars, I don’t want to face those poisonous grub darkspawn we found in Blackmarsh. I don’t want to find out what The Mother is and what she’s willing to do to kill me. I believe I have more reason to fear this expedition to Kal’Hirol than Alistair because I already previewed what new horrors we may face._

 _But_ **why?** _Why does he think the best way to protect me is to hurt me? Why does he think Smiting me is the only way to keep me from becoming a broodmother? Why does he think the best way to keep me from_ **debate** _\- simple debate - is hide it altogether? How can love be_ **that paranoid?** _How can_ **more** _than love be that paranoid?_

_When I think about the good times, I love my husband so much it hurts. It was beautiful. He was so annoying for a while, but when I stopped running back to lyrium, he was wonderful. I remember Alistair singing to me. Holding me against his heart while I fell asleep. His touch used to calm me and excite me beyond measure. Alistair was a shining knight when I needed one; when I needed one from myself. He showed me I didn’t have to keep living like I was. Long ago, my husband wanted to help me make the world a better place. He wanted to help make it perfect so we could settle down and forget the world without worry._

_I remember he used to ask to kiss me. He wanted to make sure_ **I** _wanted to kiss him._

 _…No. Alistair used to ask to kiss me, then he made_ **me** _ask_ **him** _in_ **return.**

 _I remember the first time that happened. I was uncertain. I didn’t know if I wanted him to kiss me, I didn’t think it was a good time. But he wanted a kiss, and he insisted I ask him also. I felt guilty for hitting him, and he was so happy that night. I ended up convincing myself a single kiss was harmless. But_ **he** _was the one who first wanted it, and still he made_ **me ask** _for it._

 _The deeper I delve to remember just how good Alistair was to me, the more I see how afraid he was of losing the first woman he had sex with. Rejection? Or proving to the world he knew how to keep a woman? He used to remind me I was his._ **You’re mine,** _he’d tell me,_ **No one will take you away from me.** _I thought it was how he said he protected me. I came down hard after relapsing when we found Shale, and Alistair discovered drawing patterns on my skin helped me focus. I was_ **so afraid** _of getting lost in the back of mind again I ran to him for comfort when stress rose. His circles truly helped me, for months. It convinced me I was his. Alistair reminded me every day I was his. I_ **belonged** _to_ **him,** _and he would not let anyone take me away._

 _Then he stopped doing the circles one day altogether, before the Deep Roads, and he panicked when they didn’t work_ **after** _the Deep Roads. Alistair struggled to find a new way to keep me_ **his.** _The green handkerchiefs came next, but that stopped_ **in** _the Deep Roads and I had to beg him to let me use it after. He struggled again for a new way to keep me at his side, he shut me out and didn’t speak until he found a new way. He then tied our wrists together with the handkerchief. But that stopped too. Now… well, until he returned a month and a half late, since he’s been King, Alistair’s relied on Pádraig’s elite guard to keep me_ **his.** _They followed my every step. Made sure I never went anywhere Alistair did not expect me. Even when I sat in my solar or used the toilet, they waited outside the door. Alistair took no chances, even in the safety of our palace._

**He’s so afraid of losing things.**

_He used to fight for me. There was a time he fought hostile or questionable people to keep me safe; took no chances. Now, he not only fought_ **me,** _but he let someone_ **else** _fight_ **for** _me. Alistair marched back in my life and expected me to pretend he hadn’t lied and left, he expected me to crawl right back and need him like it was another busy day at the palace. He took his extended absence with no contact in stride and expected me to do the same._

_I guess it didn’t hurt him like it hurt me._

_And he was gone long enough for me to wake up and realize the world endured without him at my side. Whatever he thought I would take in stride with him came too late. Maybe if he’d returned when he’d promised. Or maybe if he wrote me every week. I don’t know if I’ll want to be his wife in a year. But if I don’t, the Chantry doesn’t do divorce, and only the Divine in Orlais annuls a marriage. If I don’t want to be wife but Alistair doesn’t follow me to Orlais… that’s_ **it** _for me. I won’t be able to remarry if I want to; neither would he. Any children I’ll have won’t be recognized. I’ll be Queen from Amaranthine. And I’ll still have a paramour, as long as Anders puts up with the name. All because my husband set my liberation from him in motion. When neither of us wanted it in the first place._

 _Then there are the handkerchiefs. I look at them and wonder if I just put one on and kneel before Alistair… can I be happy again with him? Can I go back and pretend I’m not overprotected for ‘my own good’? Lied to for ‘my own good’. Can I go back and pretend when I’m_ **aware** _of the cage I’m released from each night to be naked with my husband?_

 _I wanted him to be King, and he enjoys it. He’s told me. Alistair said he can’t live any better unless he becomes the Maker. I wanted him to be King, but not of my_ **life.** _I didn’t want him to restrict me for ‘my own good’. I’m not a feral beast. I’m_ **not a beast** _plain and simple! I’m a_ **woman** _who has never been allowed to_ **live** _as a woman should,_ **all** _because of_ **other people.**

 _When I fell in love with my husband, I only wanted him to be there when I woke up every day. I wanted him there when I woke from nightmares. I wanted the man who loved me even in my darkest days. But I also wanted him there when I felt my best. I am at my best_ **now.**

 _When he lied and left me for that secret meeting, he wasn’t there for my dark days. Dark days his neglect created for me. He came back when I felt good about myself at last, and he was not satisfied. I’m afraid Alistair only wants me to feel as good as_ **he** _wants me to be._

 _Can I go back knowing my husband doesn’t like the me_ **I** _want to be? The way I think and feel inside? Is Alistair_ **able to see** _a Tess who doesn’t need protecting from herself? Does he realize I haven’t been that girl for three years?_

_I compare him to Anders. Alistair’s hard, urging, preventative love driven in fear of loss. Anders’ patient, self-illuminating, live-in-the-moment love driven by wanting to be at peace. My parents loved like Anders loves; he reminds me of them in that way. Each type of love has a place in life. In a Grey Warden’s life, striving for peace seems the best fit._

_I don’t think I’ll live as long as Alistair. I’m getting too old to live in fear of losing things. Everything I’ve ever had was destroyed during the Blight anyway, including myself. I can’t keep acquiring and striving to protect. I just want to be at peace now. Not the_ **illusion** _of peace; not someone worrying_ **for** _me._ **Actual** _peace. With myself, with each day. About yesterday and tomorrow._

_Is peace too much to want?_

_Come morning, I feel lighter. I still don’t know what I want a year from now. Or a month from now. But I want to weigh my options. I’ve seen others weigh their options, and they’ve turned out all right. My_ **brother** _weighed his options, and until Rendon Howe went mad and burned our home, Fergus’ decision worked out. My father was a Teyrn’s son, and the outcome of weighing_ **his** _options worked out. Teagan also weighed his options and came out successful. I feel_ **good** _about weighing my options._

_The boys seem relieved, at any rate. I guess I wear optimism well. Nathaniel feels compelled to tease me again. Justice asks me mortality-pondering questions again. Oghren shares his edible rope with me. And Anders…_

_Anders tucks a rich pink flower behind my ear with a smile. He says he’s glad I’m feeling better today. When I am ready, he would like me to tell him what I need today; friend, doctor, lover, or silent shadow._

_I can’t help but love him. It’s such a different love than I’ve ever felt with Alistair. There’s no rush, no pressure. Loving Anders means seeing where the tide takes us and enjoying what washes up. We were both confined. We’re both only now able to be ourselves. He is supportive beyond what I expected of a friend, before romance ever blossomed. There is something beyond magical in knowing someone understands me. Not just wants me, but understands what I’ve been through because he’s lived it too. A person who lets_ **me** _decide what I need each day. I can’t decline from Anders. I don’t want to not know what it’s like to be trusted with my own judgement and limits._

_The rest of me misses the man I first married in Haven._

 

 

 

_Half a day past West Hill, a handful of armed soldiers ride to the middle of the road and block our horses. It takes me only one glance up close to know these men are not standard soldiers._

_“Grey Wardens! Halt! You must come with us!” one of my brother’s guards announces tall and strong. Even their steeds bear the Highever and Cousland coats._

_Fucking Fergus._

_“You speak to Grey Wardens. You cannot order us into your custody like bandits,” Justice denies them._

_“On orders of the Teyrn, you will come with us. He has summoned the Grey Wardens who ride in his lands.”_

_I roll my eyes. “These are_ **my** _lands, not his. Maker fucking above, did Fergus forget how to dip a_ **quill?”**

_My brother’s guards stare at me. And stare. And stare harder._

_Now they don’t recognize me without my scar. Normally I’d welcome this. But not when my brother feels cocky._

_“This is the part where you dismount, lay down your arms, and bow before Her Majesty,” Nathaniel prompts them._

_“Beg your pardon, Queen Tesslyn, we didn’t recognize you. But the Teyrn said it was urgent we collect you.”_

_I sigh and roll my eyes again. “Fucking brothers,” I mutter. I guide Plum toward Highever castle northward. “Did he at least say what’s so urgent?”_

_“No, Your Majesty. We did not even know it was you. We were told to waylay the Grey Wardens, is all.”_

_I groan. It's still a day to my family's castle from here. “Fergus better have_ **darkspawn** _crawling out his sewers.”_

 

 

 

_The sun shines bright as my brother greets us at the open portcullis to Cousland castle. “Sister. Nathaniel. Wardens. Thank you for coming.”_

_“Wardens?” Oghren snorts. “A few months and you forget my name?”_

_Fergus smiles. “Not at all, Oghren. Yes, I have ale. Help yourself. And cousin, it’s good to see you again.” He watches us dismount._

_“I_ **pray** _it’s good. Your men made it sound like we were trespassing.” Nathaniel hands his reins to a servant waiting ready. He grabs his bags before his steed is led away._

_Fergus laughs “That was more or less the intent. All in good fun, Nate. I was about to take tea. Join me, please.” He hesitates at Justice, though. “Er…”_

_“Do not worry,” Justice tells him. “I am aware this… host of mine makes meals unpleasant. I will restrict my surroundings at your command.”_

_I feel for Justice. My boys and I are used to him now. It doesn’t trouble us to eat when he’s around. To us, Justice is another person._

_Fergus hesitates still. “If… you could mind the kitchens and sleeping quarters, do as you will… Justice. I will inform my staff.”_

_None of us fail to notice my brother has not addressed Anders yet. A quick glance to my boys says rumors have already spread through Highever about the Queen and her late night visitor in Bann Franderel’s manor._

_Fergus is more suspicious through tea. He feigns cheer. His laugh is hollow, forced. The only time my brother is genuine is when Nathaniel tells him of the phallic lamp with testicles that glow blue. Fergus otherwise makes a show of empty politeness towards Anders, involving him in conversation more often than anyone else._

_I’m glad when excusing servants to see my Wardens to the guest quarters leaves me alone with Fergus._

_“All right, Fergus, spit it up,” I say as we walk into rays of sun._

_The heels of his shoes clank against cobble brick. “Oh, I will, little sister. Don’t you worry about that.”_

_I roll my eyes. “I knew it,” I mutter, shaking my head._

_“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t already know. You’re a Cousland, after all.”_

_“Yes, and you’re a Mac Eanraig.” Our mother’s name is reputed as far more stubborn than any Cousland._

_“You more so. You’ve more mother’s genes than I,” Fergus retorts._

_“Hogshit. When you smile, you look just like mother. I look equally like both of them.”_

_Fergus groans. “Little sister.”_

_“I’m your_ **only** _sister, Fergus.”_

_I try to enjoy the new decorations while we walk. With so much Orlesian influence, it doesn’t doesn’t feel like home, yet I remember each hall. I’ve also never seen Fergus so formal. I suspect learning our uncle killed his wife and son made him bitter._

_I don’t like this side of him. He seems so… impersonal now. He's not the brother I used to have._

_As soon as the last guard exits the throne room, my brother turns to me with a scolding glare. “A_ **mage,** _sister?_ **Truly?”**

_“Don’t start, Fergus, I am dead serious,” I warn him._

_“As am I. Sister, it’s_ **going** _through towns like_ **wildfire.** _In a_ **Bann’s home,** _of_ **all** _places.”_

_“It’s not what you think. Whatever you’ve heard can’t be more than a splinter of the truth.”_

_“Sneaking a mage into your quarters overnight is only a splinter?_ **Enlighten** _me,_ **please,** _sister.”_

 **“You** _were_ **there,** _Fergus. I don’t have to explain Alistair’s secret diplomatic meeting to_ **you** _when_ **you** _were invited but_ **not me.”** _I face away from my brother and walk in where I can_

_Fergus groans.“I thought it was established. He didn’t want you to see Celene declare war-”_

_“Which she_ **didn’t.** _Otherwise we’d be fighting_ **Orlais** _at this moment, wouldn’t we?”_

_“And if she had?”_

_“Then I would have made the first move and ensured she couldn’t stab me in the back again. Fergus, I lived in Celene’s home for almost five years, and the Waking Sea was_ **our** _teyrnir. I have almost died countless times alongside my husband. I at least deserved to know_ **why** _he left. He didn’t have hide that from me, all right?_ **He** _set it in motion-”_

_“Wait, wait, reverse a bit,” Fergus waves his hands. “What do you mean ‘deserved to know why he left’?”_

_How can my brother cover for the same lie still? “What part of that is confusing, Fergus?”_

_Fergus stares at me in question. “Alistair never told you why he went to Jainen?”_

_“He never told me was going there at_ **all!** _He told me_ **Highever** **.** _If he had told me, I’d have been there!_ **Fergus!”** _I can’t figure him out. My brother, a man who led the entire Highever Legion for over a decade, couldn’t guess Alistair never told me the truth?_

 _He sighs and scrunches his face rubbing his brow from temple to nose. “Alistair said he didn’t want you there in case the worst happened. That’s exactly what he told me. I_ **assumed** _that meant he conferred with you and you agreed to stay behind.”_

 _“My husband, who has a Blight-long history of not speaking his mind till he makes a decision and then hides his reasoning, told you he didn’t want me seeing_ **Celene** _and you_ **assumed** _I agreed? Fergus, I am the_ **best** _person in this country to negotiate with Celene.”_

 _Fergus groans a sigh. “All right, look, Tess:_ **that** _aside, you can’t just_ **take** _a lover._ **One moment** _of a man’s stupidity regarding_ **tactics** _and_ **logic** _to keep a loved one safe is_ **not** _good enough reason to shame you both.”_

 _My eyes narrow before I know I want to glare. “It didn’t happen overnight, Fergus. It wasn't like I made sure Alistair was out of sight then_ **jumped** _on Anders. My husband left me at Vigil’s Keep and said he’d return in one month. He said he was going to see you, then Teagan, then he’d return._ **Weeks** _went by and not a_ **single** _word, until I stepped out at sunrise to feed my horse and found a Courier with a letter to_ **Pádraig** _\- not me, Pádraig. And the Courier was reluctant to speak because_ **he** _was given orders_ **by my husband** _to make sure the letter did_ **not** _find_ **my** _hands.”_

 _Fergus sighed again. “He’s a_ **man,** _sister. Men are not always wise.”_

 _“Wise?” I huff. “Fergus, he_ **left** _me._ **My husband abandoned me.** _He_ **lied** _to me - for I don’t know_ **how** _long he planned it - and I thought he was never coming back! He used me welcoming the new Wardens as a_ **diversion** _so I would be occupied enough_ **not** _to question where he’d gone. That has nothing to do with wisdom. It’s tactics, as you even admitted a moment ago. No tactic has ever been pure, innocent accident. I thought he_ **left** _me for_ **good.”** _My eyes water before I can try to fight it. “I thought my husband was_ **never** _coming back. I missed him so much I rode back to the palace to find him, only he wasn’t there. Then days later I intercepted his letter to Pádraig…” I shake my head. “I thought he snuck off to a_ **mistress.** _The_ **letter sounded** **like** _he was seeing someone I would not approve of. Alistair wrote ‘If Tess finds out, it may end bitterly.’”_

 _“But it’s_ **you** _who has a lover,” Fergus mutters._

 **“Now,** _yes. As of_ **one month** _ago. Not_ **almost six** _when_ **Alistair** _left me. It wasn’t planned, Fergus, it_ **just happened.”**

 _“Enough to_ **keep** _just happening in Bann Franderel’s home?” My brother doesn’t believe me._

 _Doesn’t trust me. He now knows_ **Alistair** _lied, but_ **I'm** _untrustworthy._

 **“Franderel** _made a scene of us arriving,_ **not me.** _I was unnoticed until_ **he** _yelled out my name and_ **insisted** _we stay with him.”_

 _“Did you forget you’re a woman? You can’t go around sleeping with men you’re not married to. You’re the_ **Queen** _and the country expects a royal heir. It’s not even the fact you chose a_ **mage,** _but you_ **ran from duty-”**

 _“Fergus,_ **don’t.** _I did_ **not** _run from duty._ **Alistair** _made me Warden-Commander, I never_ **wanted** _the job. I've_ **never** _wanted to be a Warden. I have_ **played** _Queen_ **in** _Amaranthine, in addition to being_ **Commander.** **As** _Alistair wanted me to! And I wouldn't even_ **have** _a new womb capable of_ **making** _an heir if it weren’t for Anders.”_

 _My brother doesn’t look at me. His eyes drift to the distance before he wets his mouth and gestures. “All right, look._ **Bear with** _me for a moment. Let’s_ **pretend** _Franderel’s nosy house didn’t spread rumors of the Queen and a Grey Warden mage. But what happens when you have a child sent to the Circle? What happens_ **then** _when no Cousland or Theirin has ever been a mage? When the whole world finds out - not rumors,_ **knows** _\- the Queen has slept around? I_ **don’t** _want to see you humiliated, sister. I spent half my life trying to ensure you were respected as you deserve to be. Me, Teagan, Cailan, Nathaniel; even our parents, indirectly._ **How** _can you throw_ **all** _our work away like that?”_

 _“I’m_ **not pregnant,** _Fergus!”_

_His brows raise while he searches my face. “How do you know?”_

_“How do_ **you** _know? You are not a_ **woman or** _doctor_ **or** _me! There are supposed to be_ **signs,** _right? If I am_ **expecting,** _I_ **ought** _to have the signs. Besides,_ **if** _I am, it’s more likely to be_ **Alistair’s** **.** _He had me a_ **week straight** _before I even_ **kissed** _Anders.”_

 _Fergus searches me still. Silent, contemplating. “So you think you_ **love** _this mage, then? He’s courting you?”_

 _“Not in_ **that** _sense. We live at the same Keep. But we’re not idiots, Fergus. We both know Alistair expects an heir.”_

_“That’s not what I asked.”_

**“Yes,** _I love him. I_ **trust** _him. He's my_ **friend, also,** _Fergus. He was my friend_ **first."**

_Fergus breathes deep, staring at me while he crosses his arms at his chest and sits against an armrest. “And what about your marriage?”_

 

 

Anders met Nathaniel’s apprehensive glare, then looked away. His thumbs flicked. Nathaniel frowned as he rocked against the stone wall. One foot on the wall, one on the ground, both boots flexed with each rock, while his fingers tapped air in a rapid beat.

Nathaniel’s tour of Cousland castle brought Tess’ voice to their ears after leaving the library. Simple curiosity became deep concern when Tess escalated and Fergus shouted over her. Nathaniel and Anders weren’t sure how long they’d stood to listen yet.

“I do _not_ want to have to shoot Fergus Cousland. Andraste, my family name is black enough,” Nathaniel muttered. His bow and quiver laid near his feet. He couldn’t hold them without making a racket.

Anders breathed through his nose. “I don’t want to hurt him either.” He paused. “If Tess sets something on fire, I’ll have to rush in.” His eyes flew to Nathaniel. “Does he know she’s a mage?”

Nathaniel held his breath while he searched Anders for the same answer. “I don’t know.”

While Fergus had wasn’t always heard, Tess was loud and clear: “The woman who married Alistair was still recovering from a lyrium withdrawal! She was a girl who whipped her daggers out at every threat to Alistair being King because she was _so_ desperate to be rid of Loghain so she could come home and _not_ be judged! Not be _sneered_ at and _whispered_ behind! The woman who killed the Archdemon _didn’t do_ it out of love, she _did_ it because she had no choice! I _loved_ him then but I had _no choice!_ You were _there,_ Fergus! It was _jump_ off the tower roof or _try_ to survive to _see a better day!_ I chose to _fight_ for my future! For a _better_ future for me where _I don’t need to fight_ every day!”

A pregnant pause took over until Tess laughed in disbelief.

“Would _Father_ let Alistair treat me like I’m incapable of doing things on my own?” She tried so hard to make her point.

The more Anders and Nathaniel heard, the more they wondered why she stayed so long. Unless she became Queen before she realized how little freedom she had.

 _“Father_ was making me Teyrna _here!_ He would’ve told Alistair to _let_ me do my fucking _job!_ _Mother_ would clock him so hard he’d _fly_ into the _ocean!_ How does someone go from killing the Archdemon to being incapable of handling news? Would _you_ go back? If you saved the fucking world, would _you_ go back where you’re treated you’ll hurt yourself with a _dinner_ knife? You’ve _heard_ some of our arguments, Fergus, _you know_ what asking him to be _honest_ and _fair_ with me does! _Alistair_ makes _all_ the decisions, from the moment we got to Denerim during the Blight! _He_ gets to make my decisions! _Every moment_ of my day is planned by _him!_ If I ask for time alone outside his schedule, he gets _suspicious!_ That’s _not_ what being Queen is about! _Not_ in Ferelden! I did _not_ save the fucking world to be told I can’t handle news of my own country! I did _not_ save the fucking world to have my husband _hide_ things from me!! I am _more_ fucking capable than _anyone_ in this whole fucking world but _no one fucking treats me like it!!_ I was raised to _govern_ my country and I _saved_ my country from fucking eminent death but I’m _not_ allowed to _do_ anything in my fucking country!!”

“Sister, you’re _Queen!_ Queens and noble wives have _always_ ruled from the side.”

“Now you’re _conveniently_ forgetting _Anora._ No one protested when _she_ took on the _King’s_ job. And while _Maric_ was away, even though she was _ill,_ _Rowan_ ruled! And what about _Moira?_ Yet _I’m_ not allowed a _little_ say? _They_ can do _all that_ but _I_ must be confined to _Alistair’s_ limits of _comfort?_ _They_ can have freedom but _I_ must accept being _over-coddled_ and _lied_ to? That is _hogshit_ and _you_ know it!”

Nathaniel and Anders exchanged another glance of concern.

Tess scoffed again. _"Don't even,_ Fergus! _I climbed_ a fucking Blighted Dragon and _cut_ its skull open, and when it looked at me, I _stabbed_ its eye and its brains and _ended_ the fucking Fifth Blight! I am _not_ a fucking noble Fereldan wife!! I saved a country that _hated_ me!!! And _still would_ hate me if a _legendary Theirin_ wasn’t my husband! I had no reason to save this country! But _here_ I am _bound_ by duty because I married a _Grey Warden_ who _became King!_ All my fucking effort during the Blight has accounted for _‘Don’t tell Tess, you’ll upset her.’_ _WHAT PART OF I KILLED THE ARCHDEMON DON’T PEOPLE UNDERSTAND?!!_ How is that grounds for hiding diplomatic meetings and treating your wife like she’s best left in a cage? _He left me_ Fergus! He was gone _much_ longer than he said, he _never_ wrote me, and _I_ had to move on as if _he was never coming back!_ He gave me no choice! _I mourned_ my husband like he _died,_ I _had_ to just to _survive_ his absence! And the Wardens I have now _helped me heal!_ _They gave me purpose again!”_

Another pause.

 _"That_ came _after_ Alistair returned! Fergus, _you don’t know_ what you’re _lecturing_ me on! He is _not_ just a bed toy!”

 _Anders._ They were talking about Anders.

Anders hung his head and hoped no one else nearby knew it was about him.

“But you’re _married!”_ Fergus was loud and clear.

“And my _husband_ is the one who sent me away! _He_ made me Warden-Commander, _he_ left me, _he_ refused to write - why do I have to keep explaining this? And _he_ only returned to me _after_ he made me think he’d left me for good! _A month and a half late!_ That was _Alistair’s_ choice, _not_ mine! Anders grew on me _after_ I was out of bed! _After_ Alistair came back! _You_ don’t know what you’re saying! You have _no right_ to say anything about him! He gave his _own blood_ heal Nathaniel and me! He is a _good man,_ and _he_ doesn’t try to confine me in his comfort zone of utter control. _Alistair_ is the one who does that to me!”

“You’re the _Queen,_ sister! Set your _own_ bounds if you don’t want your husband setting them _for_ you! _Instead_ of making a show of dragging lovers to bed-”

 _“I DON’T!!!”_ Tess screamed. “I _don’t_ make a show of dragging lovers to bed! Franderel’s house was _asleep!_ And every time I _do_ set my own bounds, Alistair _yells_ at me!! He _yells_ and the _whole fucking palace_ hears it!! _That_ is my choice, Fergus - risk upsetting my husband’s _perfect reign_ by saying _I need space,_ or _shut up_ and _pretend_ I’m all right! It’s been two and half fucking years since I killed the Archdemon and nothing’s fucking changed in my life!! Except _now_ as _Commander!_ That’s _two and a half fucking years of keeping my mouth shut_ because asking for a _inch_ of independence makes _Alistair_ think I’m calling him worthless! Because asking for an _hour_ to walk through my garden alone makes him think I’m saying he's not good enough for my time! When _all_ I fucking want is to _cut_ my own dinner, _not_ be lied to, and _not_ be escorted by _twelve_ heavily armed men _just to pee!_ _I_ can’t go out for a drink, but _he_ runs off to the tavern with _Zevran_ for drinks _all_ the fucking time!

“And as much as it hurts me to sit back and watch my husband tell me where I can or can’t step, I _have!_ Only _now_ have I had the courage speak up again because _only now_ do I have somewhere else to _go!_ I’ve _let_ Alistair dictate my _every_ fucking move because the alternative is getting _yelled_ at for trying to leave him! And his _yell scares_ me, Fergus! It _always_ has! He has that _same_ yell _Maric_ had! Like _Father’s_ yell scared me. And he’s _so_ fucking insecure about our marriage that he can’t fucking see I can _still_ be his _wife even_ if I walk around my _own garden_ by myself! _Yes_ I love him, _still,_ but that’s _exactly_ why it fucking hurts! _I_ _chose_ to stay with this man I fell in love with when I was _crazy_ and _unpredictable,_ though as I’ve healed I saw how _unhealthy_ him being King was for _me._ I _chose_ to stay and I _let_ him cage me! _What_ were my _options_ before? But _now_ when _he_ finally gave me room to go my own way - _because_ he had a _secret meeting_ to attend - _I’m_ suddenly everyone’s favorite villain again! _Alistair_ left _me, he_ forgot about _me,_ but it’s not ‘Alistair You Hurt Your Wife’, it’s _‘What the Fuck_ Tess?! What Are _You_ Thinking Tess?!’ When _he abandoned_ me it made me want to _die_ but _nobody_ has scolded _him_ for that!! I’m the _only_ one fucking being scolded!”

Another pause. Anders dared look up. Nathaniel shook his head and squeezed his eyes, still rocking. Nathaniel was the one who sat with Tess when she cried and hurt.

“You should be reminding _Alistair_ I’m Queen! _He’s_ the one who’s forgotten I have say in this country’s fate - over my _own_ fate! I’m _not_ the one you need to lecture! And _you_ are only _Teyrn,_ Fergus! _You_ do not get to pull the Queen _or_ the Commander of the Grey from her mission to lecture her on _how_ things must be done! Don’t forget _I saved you, too!_ I can’t see _Father_ or _Mother_ forgetting I saved the world. And you can _damn_ well bet _Oren_ would not forget! _Your son_ would not let _anyone_ forget his auntie saved the world!”

A heavy lock moved with a clank and Tess stormed out. She paused only to glance from Nathaniel to Anders, glassy eyes wild with hurt, before turning sharp to storm off in the other direction. Anders hurried after her.

From across walk and the throne room, Fergus stared at Nathaniel. “You approve of this? _Truly,_ Nathaniel?” he called.

“It’s not my place to decide who she can love.” Nathaniel reached down to secure his bow and quiver.

“But she’s the _Queen.”_

Nathaniel nodded. “But did you also reprimand King Maric or King Cailan?” When Fergus sighed, Nathaniel shrugged. “For _her_ sake, I am trying to be fair about this. Proof Maric had at least _one_ affair sits on the throne _right now_ \- while you’ve reprimanded _Tesslyn_ for the same thing. If _Maric_ can have a legitimate heir _and_ a bastard, then so can she.” Nathaniel shook his head. “I can’t support you in this, Fergus. In the few months I’ve been back, I’ve seen her hurt by him more than anyone _should_ hurt. I can’t imagine what it’s been like lying to herself to keep the peace. I see my mother all over again. Just because he doesn’t hit her doesn’t mean she doesn’t hurt inside. It’s not my call who she loves. It’s _her_ decision.”

 

 

 

_“Taintling. Come out, come out, Taintling…”_

_I know that voice. Urthemiel._

_The Archdemon._

_I hate this! Why does it have to be on_ **_this_ ** _roof?_

_Alistair yells for me. Ahead, too far away. I can’t reach him. Can’t run. He can’t run. There’s no room. Thrashing tail brings up chips and chunks. I’m alone here. Just me and my daggers, and a long drop to the ground behind me._

_If I don’t fight now, I will die._

_I turn with my daggers out. Ready to climb, ready to kill. Ready to end this voice in my head and the pain in my blood._

_But it is Alistair’s face now. Not a dragon. Not Urthemiel._

_Alistair screams at me, “DO IT, TESS! HOLY SMITE! NOW! SMITE ME! BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!” Then: “WHAT HAPPENED TO BEING MARRIED, TESS!?” A roar that rattles my bones._

_I drop to my knees and try to cover my ears but my hands are stuck. I can’t move my arms! I look over to find I’m tied to a bed._ **_His_ ** _bed._

_No!! No no, not this!_

_“Looking might make it worse. Just a suggestion.” Loghain drinks brandy from a glass to large for his hand. As he walk by, the hand trailing my skin is scaled. Not human. Dark red and green like fresh meat starting to rot, claws the size of hands trace down my body leaving marks of red all over me, over my veins._

_He stops. The mage by my feet is tall, gray, face melded to an ancient hat that covers his eyes, golden ribs wrap around armor that has fused with skin. “I do not wish to be your enemy, Commander,” as he injects something between my legs that stings like flaming shrapnel. No breath, no sound. Only pain._

_Not sure I’m alive._

_Loghain tips the Joining chalice into his mouth with two large claws dripping with raw Taint. A great, scaled head deep in corruption peers with a toothy grin. “Thus be it mine goodly maid.” Large claws pat my head. When he lowers the goblet again, the face has changed._

_No. NO! She couldn’t!_

_“Sister, I do think I’ve an influence on your husband!” Morrigan smiles in pride. As her grin grows, the face changes again. Hair lightens before my eyes, brighter, like a red sun-kissed fruit. Changing colors and arranges features until it settles on a Morrigan with ginger hair, stubble, and honey eyes._

_Brows drop and the mouth stretches. The scales return with large horns and jagged teeth. Another bomb bursts inside my womb like acid and barbed flames. Pain so harsh I can’t move but to curl and hold my belly. “WHAT ABOUT MY FATHER?!” Archdemon Theirin roars._

 

 

_Sharp pain my lower gut opens my eyes. Feels like punching, pounding. Hurts so bad it curls me up over my knees. A sound so broken and scant I don’t sound like myself. My hands land in something wet. Warm wet._

_Red runs down my arm when my wet hand holds the bedpost. Bright, shiny red dribbling down. I look at my hand, the smeared post, watch the red trickle down my arm. More punching, pain, throbbing, twisting inside. Almost fall off again. Hand stains the bed red when I try to hold myself up. Ends of my hair disappear into the warm wet. Red warm wet._

_Red warm wet beneath me. Saturating my nightgown where my legs come together. Another punch. My voice sounds a dying halla. More red soaks my gown._

_Oh no. Oh no no no no no no! NO!!!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	25. Encased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens deal with Tess' miscarriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Hello (Adele, metal cover), by PelleK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rfn52BxzXM4)  
> Morrigan: [Caribbean Blue, by Enya](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jl8iYAo90pE)

Nathaniel found her. Returning from a late walk when darkness ruled the castle, the sound carried down the corridor. At first he thought it was a maid and a guard, or something a cat dragged in. When the sound grew stronger and more fitful towards the guest quarters, worry anchored. Tesslyn was the only female who slept in this end of the castle.

Nathaniel ran, preparing to assault whoever made her make such noise. The guards warned her hound let no one in. Nathaniel ignored them and shoved into the room anyway.

And stopped so fast he almost fell. Tesslyn scrunched up on the bed in a stain of red, face molded in pain. The bedding wrung around her with each noise. Nathaniel’s curse almost wasn’t heard over Tesslyn’s sob. He shut her in again only to wake Anders.

They never ran faster. Nathaniel tripped when Anders froze in the doorway. Then the longest moment blurred together. Anders moved Tesslyn and the sheets until he found what he feared: thick clots and a small cord. His hands moved from his mouth to rake his scalp while he collected himself. _Miscarriage._ Tesslyn lost a child. They never even knew she carried. _Mis_ carried.

Nathaniel heard of miscarriages. He never knew they were so terrible. With so much blood, she might have been stabbed.

Nathaniel ran again. Maids experienced in childbirth, herbs, potions. Fresh bedding. Bathwater. He woke the Revered Mother for prayers, for extra measure.

Anders set a dome over the bed to quiet the noise. He took Tess’ face in his hands with the only thing he could tell her: he _could_ heal her. Anders could hurry her healing, but it would make it pass quicker. The rest of her placenta would pass at once. It would be more pain than Anders could dull at a time.

Tess nodded, so distorted in pain and fear she did not look like herself. She didn’t look up from her knees when he held her. One hand healing, one rushing her regeneration. His arms weren’t big enough for her right now.

Nathaniel and maids worked around them. Bedding was stripped and moved. Bloody sheets balled together and rushed from the room under disguise of a quilt. Calming incense, steaming water, fresh gowns. Po stood guard outside the room. Nathaniel paced. Maids waited in a corner between bouts of blood.

Anders sat beside himself through it all. Pausing only for lyrium potions, he held her and healed… but more taken off guard than ever.

_What if it was his?_

He knew Alistair had her first, and for that, it was _likely_ Alistair’s. But it _could_ have been. He had tried. _Hoped._ The _idea_ of _never_ needing to run again…

_It could have been Anders’ child._

Mortality seemed so much closer, now.

Or the Taint. The Taint prevented pregnancy, didn't it? That was what the elf taught; what Alistair learned from the previous Warden-Commander. Wasn’t that supposed to be years away, though? _How could that be so soon?_

…Unless it was _Tess?_ What if she was more fragile than she thought? Than she appeared? Something more wrong with her than the Architect could cure. Was it the lyrium inside her? Anders knew she had more than most Templars.

Maybe King Alistair had good reason to be overprotective.

Nathaniel asked if he should wake Fergus, but everyone was ordered to silence. It was all Tess raised her head for. When Tess disappeared back in her knees, an aging maid said the fight caused it. She swore on it, had seen it before in other women. Said it was good reason not to rouse the Teyrn.

Anders had to agree. It might not have been the whole reason, but an argument like Tess had with Fergus Cousland hours ago could have started it. Emotional over-encumbrance caused miscarriages in the Circle all the time.

They would need to treat Tess like she was delicate.

As if she wasn’t unhappy enough right now.

 

They left before dawn. Tess insisted. It was the only thing out of her mouth after she stopped crying. The maids bathed her, Anders ripped cloth and gathered potions for the ride home, and Nathaniel woke Oghren. Rushing. Hushing. Tip-toeing. Stamina potions went around, Nathaniel and Oghren went ahead to find Justice and ready the horses, and Anders stayed behind to get Tess fit to ride. No one complained it was the coldest fucking time of night.

“It’s never just one thing. Is it? There’s always something else wrong.”

Anders paused busy hands to look at Tess. She stared without blinking like Anders was transparent. Almost like she’d never said anything at all. Only when he exhaled did her eyes move. Tess blinked, and in slow motion her eyes stepped up the air to his.

“I got fixed too late. Didn’t I? S’only proof I’m broken. Forever.” Her eyes glazed again as she let them drift.

“No.” Anders shook his head and turned up her chin. She looked at him like she needed a nap after a long day. _“This was not your fault,”_ he insisted, searching her eyes. “Don’t start thinking like that. This was _not_ your fault, Tess. It _happens,_ they’re more common than people let on. It’s _not you._ You’re _not broken._ I _promise_ it’s not you.” He held her face and put his lips to her forehead. Her eyes said she didn’t believe him. Tess looked like she’d already given up trying.

 

She flew her horse in the dark. Any other breed would have stumbled, but the Anderfels horses could run at the darkest hours. Nathaniel and Anders rode so fast after her the lanterns went out and they relied on their steeds to catch up. They had no choice. Tess was determined to put Highever out of sight as soon as she could, and her loyal stallion obliged.

By the time Tess slowed and the others caught up, the sky began to wake the world around them.

They rode in their usual formation, Tess between Anders and Nathaniel. But there were no words. Silence, save for busy horse feet and the faint clank of armor from Justice trailing. Oghren rode behind with Justice, more sober than he’d been in months. Nothing could be done. No jokes, no conversation. Not even alcohol. They rode, and silent tears streaked down Tess’ face.

Anders tried not to dwell on it. Tried to push from his mind the child that didn’t survive might have been his. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t push it aside and still be there for Tess. He couldn’t even be there as her _doctor_ if he brushed it off. It didn’t _just_ happen to her. It didn’t matter whose child it was, it happened to Anders who held her through it. It happened to Nathaniel who found her. It affected Oghren whose own child still lived. It affected Justice who could not ask to understand. The horses smelled it. Po mourned with her. Tess wore a gown of melancholy and it engulfed them all like fog.

Anders reached over and took her hand. Tess blinked, and turned her head. Bags cradled wide, distant eyes. She looked too old. _Defeated._

He couldn’t comfort her. He’d never been so involved in a miscarriage before. He’d never cared for the women who had them. Anders sympathized and understood they felt alone, but they were patients, not friends. The more he saw the same ones return, the less he felt for them. All those girls who continued to get pregnant and created drama till they miscarried. Not mentioning intentional miscarriages. Comforting patients felt less and less like a priority there.

He _wanted_ to comfort _Tess._ Anders wished he could wave his hand and make the pain and guilt disappear. But he could not. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he was capable of was enough right now.

Anders never felt less like a Healer. Even less like a friend when he wanted to prove himself.

 

 

 

_The young mother shrieks. She scrambles on her hands and knees as fast as she can. Giggles pop up like they are bubbles on the green ground beneath her moving limbs. She scurries behind a tree, turning around in time to see a mess of dark hair and a toothy grin close in on her. Rich laughter rings through the air, far bigger than the babe it comes from. The mother shrieks again as the child pushes up to his knees to fall on her. She holds him tight, pretending he is so strong he knocks her over. Their laughter almost sounds the same as cool grass rushes to her back._

_And the boy hugs her. Little arms drape over while a head still too big for his body lies on her chest. A perfect little smile stretches his face. He loves his mother._

_Morrigan admires her son. His thick dark curls flow around her fingers almost like water. His breath moves his back beneath her hand. She counts along in her head to the tiny heartbeat._

_Before he was born, she never knew hair and skin could be so soft. She never knew the reason for touch, for a hug, a kiss. For a warm hand up and down a back. She never guessed such small arms gave the largest hugs._

_He has his father’s eyes._

_She can’t hate Alistair. As much as she wanted to, as harsh as they clashed, he gave her something more beautiful than she imagined existed. He gave her life, innocence. He gave her a chance to experience childhood again, to grow with their son as children should. Purity._

_A chance to know love._

_She understands now what held Alistair and Tesslyn to life when all seemed lost. If anything is worth saving, it is love._

_Her son moves his head, nuzzles her breast through cloth. As if it is conversation he speaks with only her bosoms, subtle pressure bursts and milk blossoms in a wet stain. Morrigan laughs and moves her son to sit so she can adjust them both._

_A diligent little jaw gets to work. Tiny fingers knead, helping Kieran drink. Until he was made, Morrigan feared her breasts would be used for luring men to make more daughters. More vessels for Flemeth to possess. But she knows, now: she was meant to be Mother. Meant to hold this perfect little person in her arms and nourish him. She was meant to be_ **his** _Mother. Precious._

_Morrigan focuses on her son’s eyes again. Large, curious, ever-alert to his mother. She smiles down at him. “You will be two, soon.” She brushes ebony tendrils off his face. “Three more months. Tis not long at all.”_

_Kieran’s little fist opens at her breast. His flat, stiff hand waves like a turning page._

_“Oh, you wish a_ **tale?”** _Morrigan echoes her son’s silent language. Kieran nods a fist at her breast. He does not take to words yet, instead prefers to speak with his hands. Morrigan doesn’t know a proper hand language, though what she makes up as she goes along works well enough._

_Morrigan hums while she thinks. “Oh, yes. I have just the one:_

_“Once upon a time - not long ago, in fact, Mother knew a hero,” she began. “Not_ **any** _hero, though. A Grey Warden, the mightiest of all heroes. This particular hero was a woman. Capable and strong, a fierce defender of the world. She was beautiful and clever, and,” Morrigan smiles in memory, “so full of wit she made me laugh till my sides ached.” Kieran stares as if she holds a book, studying her face and her hand as she tries to sign. “Everyone who knew her loved her, for she brought hope and warmth to the darkest depths. Those who knew her knew friendship._

 _“But she was not even_ **any** _Grey Warden hero. She was my_ **Sister.** _She was not born such, she_ **became** _so.” Morrigan pauses. She traces the corner of a small, hungry mouth with her fingertip. Memory again surfaces, when Tesslyn was infantile in the Deep Roads. She remembers her sister cooing over bead necklaces like treasure. “She taught Mother love, and nobility. Not in the sense the world sees it; not what value I place on myself compared to others. But respect for what lies inside me. She taught me to recognize the strength of my heart, and to embrace my limits. In such, I learned kinship._ **Family,** _Kieran.”_

_She pauses again. As time passed, she thought less and less of the life she left behind. Such thoughts ache her heart and mind. Yet she misses it. Morrigan misses what might have been. Love; remembering the captain with untamed curls and deep umber eyes brings a smile. And sisterhood._

_She misses those nights sitting at the fire giggling with her sister._

_If she went back now, could she have that again?_

_“You might call her Aunt,” Morrigan tells her son. “Though she is even_ **more** _than_ **that.** _With_ **her** _blessing,_ **I** _was given the_ **greatest gift** _in the world:_ **you,** _Kieran._ **She** _gave you to me.” She smiles for her boy, pressing a gentle finger to his nose. Trying to disguise the pinch in her chest. “You_ **might** _also say she is your second mother.”_

 _As if he understands the words, her son’s small brows jump. Kieran makes a noise of question with his mouth still full. Morrigan giggles. “Tis correct,” she nods. “Two mothers. A_ **lucky boy** _you are indeed. The_ **bravest** _person Mother has known.” Morrigan draws her fingertip along fine brows and under his eyes. “You have your father’s eyes. Did you know? Like the sweetest honey on a warm summer’s day. And you have your mother’s courage and cunning. Your_ **other** _mother. Your Grey Warden_ **hero** _mother. The love of the_ **bravest** _hero to walk our worlds lives in_ **you,** _Kieran. She gave you her heart the day she gave you to me.”_

 

 

 

 

 

“How long can we expect her like this?” Nathaniel leaned forward and rubbed his hands on his face.

“I don’t know. It’s not like this in the Circle.” Anders shook his head. They arrived at the Keep almost a day ago. Tess went straight to bed and had no interest getting up unless she needed to. Anders sat with her until she fell asleep. It was far unlike when she healed from the surgery. Tess withdrew from everyone. If not for breathing, Anders might not know she lived. She’d become a statue under quilts.

“What happens in the Circle?” Nathaniel watched him. Anders stared off into oblivion, unable to help it.

He felt helpless. He _hated_ feeling so helpless.

“They’re sent to the healing ward and medicated. Given bedrest and an antidepressant elixir and monitored for a week or two. Most are usually more quiet afterwards. But nothing like this. The potions are mandatory. They don’t have a chance to… become like her.”

“Antidepressant? Perhaps we should give Tesslyn one. It seems to come upon her often. We still need to investigate that chasm.” Nathaniel paused, then sat up. “Do you know how to make it?”

Anders nodded. “If she doesn’t… come-to in a couple days, I may have to.”

“Maybe _I_ should go. To Knotwood Hills.”

“What?” Anders stared at him. “By yourself? Nate, it’s overrun. You’ll die.”

“I can be in and out before they know I’m there. We at least need an idea.” Nathaniel tried to stop his hands tapping, only for his foot to. “I’ll take Oghren and Justice with me. And the hounds. That’s six of us, seven if I bring hers. And our _horses_ have been there, in the Deep Roads. That’s a sizeable force. Justice can lead any battles, in case those acid-bleeding grub are there.”

Anders stared. He did _not_ like the idea. Blackmarsh was still too recent for him. Trying to patch Oghren up, trying to stop poison they didn’t know how to counteract… Anders was the only Healer. He did _not_ like them going off into such a dangerous unknown without him.

But Nathaniel had a point. It was easy to forget being a Grey Warden meant more than freedom from the Circle. The horrors at Blackmarsh were, at best, a small hint at the worst to come if they ignored or delayed the darkspawn.

“I’ll start potions and injury kits.” Anders stood with a heavy exhale. “You should at least tell Tess.”

 

 

_“Nate? Come back. Please.”_

It was all Tess said for two days.

Four days total, not including the five it took to return to the Keep. But it was worse after Nathaniel left with Oghren and Justice. There was no one here for _Anders_ now.

It overwhelmed Anders. He tried and tried to get Tess to speak. Asked her how she felt, if she was comfortable, thirsty. If she wanted him to read to her, or if she wanted to try a walk. Or sit at the creek. As daylight passed, the topic ceased to matter. Anders held her hand, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Tess stared into the abyss. Sometimes her eyes watered and her nostrils flared like she tried to breathe through sadness, and she rolled away from him. But she wouldn’t talk. Didn’t respond when he tried to hold her. Didn’t respond when he caught stray tears with his thumbs.

_He couldn’t help her if she chose to waste away._

He blamed the Circle for false displays in the healing ward. He’d never dealt with this. _This_ was what he needed experience in.

Anders felt helpless. He felt alone. _Unfit._ Overwhelmed was an understatement. It hurt in ways he never knew he could hurt. He hurt for her _and_ himself. It was a pain that kept digging and digging. Nothing dulled it. Magic was useless against it. She knew what it was like to be him; to be feared until someone needed something, then passed around. Tess knew the struggles of his life, and it drew them together as Wardens. But that meant _nothing_ right now. They even shared the same pain _now,_ but they sat almost as separated as before they met. And the more he sat with her in heavy silence, the more the miscarriage weighed his mind. The more he felt he failed Tess for not giving her the baby she wanted. For not knowing how to prevent losing it. He failed Tess as lover _and_ physician.

It became _he_ in his head: his _son_ died, and Anders couldn’t stop it. He’d held a tiny, torn sac no bigger than a coin in his hand and couldn’t reverse it. Couldn’t fix it. _Anders_ couldn’t save _him._

He needed Tess to say she didn’t blame him. He needed her to squeeze his hand. Look at him. Let him know he wasn’t alone in the room she lay in. Something. _Anything._ But she wouldn’t.

She didn’t acknowledge his sniffle or glazing eyes.

Anders needed a break. He didn’t want to cry in front of her. It already hurt for her not to see him _now._ He felt _rejected._ He stood from his chair with another sniffle and left her alone. Head down, breathing through his mouth to not draw attention to his wet eyes, Anders went straight to his room and threw himself on his bed. Tears leaked the moment he brought his mother’s pillow to his face.

He let himself go too deep. He let _her_ in too deep. It was too late to pull away to shield himself. Anders never knew opening to someone could hurt so bad. Never knew watching pain he couldn’t stop would hurt _him._ The good times were _bliss,_ incomparable and better than anything he imagined. But _not this._ Not struggling against nature that targeted _them_ out the whole world. He never knew about the self-blame and isolation that surfaced when the person he gave his heart to couldn’t abandon depression. Never guessed he could mourn a _fetus_ he never knew existed till it was too late. He never knew something could make simple eye-contact sound like breath again after drowning. _Anders never knew how bad it hurt to love someone._

When the tears waned at last, Anders lay silent hugging his mother’s pillow. He traced the faded, frayed edges. Tried to remember his mother’s face. Wished she was there to tell him what to do. But he couldn’t see her now. All he saw was Tess rolling away from him.

All he wanted since the Templars took him was his family again. His _home._ Anders used to dream of finding a woman like his mother. Someone who would love him and his children like his mother loved him. Someone who wasn’t afraid of his magic. After the Blight when he sat in solitary confinement, he began dreaming of a _new_ home. Hidden in mountains no one dared explore, and a person not afraid of his magic was _always_ there. Someone who _knew_ him and accepted him. He wanted someone who knew the deepest, darkest creases of his heart and mind and _stayed._ Someone to share his best days with. Someone to laugh with, cry with, _celebrate._ _Love unbound._ He dreamed of loving someone so much it _hurt._

...Right now, she lay in another room so encased in her own darkness she did not see his pain.

When his mind cleared and tears dried, Anders rose from his bed and went to his store of alchemy supplies at the other end of the Keep. Nathaniel was right. Tess needed help beyond the capabilities of friendship or magic.

Anders closed up the store as the midnight moon peaked. The Keep was almost silent. Outside the guardsmen, only Tess lay awake.

Still. Silent. She didn’t acknowledge him when Anders said her name. She didn’t move when he brushed hair from her face. It raked inside his chest and throat and pushed water to his eyes. No change. Not in her, not in how it felt to sit with her like this. Anders turned away from her and wiped a hand under his eyes.

 _He was trying to help her._ Couldn’t she see that?

His hand shook separating note paper. He forced deep breaths to even his pulse and steady the quill in his hand. Anders expected - _wanted_ \- her eyes on him while he wrote. He never felt her.

Tess didn’t even look over when he dragged the tea table over. Anders positioned the note and her potion bottle, and looked over again. Still no reaction. “Tess?” _Fuck,_ he didn’t want to cry again. He _hated_ crying. Crying never accomplished anything except make him feel _more_ helpless.

Anders leaned down, put his lips to her forehead. He felt her eyes blink against his chin. He didn’t catch a tear in time. For a moment, he stayed. Held his head to hers, tried to smell her skin. Tried to breathe her scent. Another tear leaked from the center of his eye. He couldn’t even say sorry for crying on her; it was the _last_ part of him he wanted her to see. Anders reached till he found her hand, brought it to his chest, _hoped she could feel his heartbeat._ Hoped it reminded her it was safe to breathe with him, _move_ with him.

…But nothing.

He managed a scant _Goodnight_ before he tore himself from her room to go be weak in his own.

This wasn’t fair. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. Was it?

 

 

 

Morning came with a feeling of rawness. Anders felt chafed inside, like his heart sat exposed to the world with nothing but a rough net covering it. His thoughts went straight to Tess, and apprehension overcame him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to check on her. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more rejection.

Anders took his time getting out of bed. Rolled his neck. Stretched, tried to force life and motivation into his being. Spent far too long breathing to center himself. He didn’t need to be a Healer to know he was off-balance.

He hoped a strong cup of tea and a few shots would set him right.

Something he did not expect bared itself as he neared Tess’ door. Tess _open_ door. Anders’ heartbeat skipped. Her _door_ was open. Was she up? Or was it her handmaiden? Anders slowed, stepped to the other side of the door. Leaned in like something might grab him.

And there she was.

Sitting on top of her bed, dressed for the day. Hair pulled back in an Orlesian braid. The tea table held up an empty bottle.

It was like sunlight was let in all over the Keep all a sudden.

Anders stepped inside the room. “You’re up…”

Tess nodded. “I’ve been up for a while.” Anders’ chest squeezed his lungs and heart. He almost forgot what her voice sounded like. “You were asleep. Can you close the door please?”

Anders nodded and pushed the door shut behind him, watching her the whole time. He was hopeful; he hadn’t felt so last night. Anders wet his mouth and sat on edge of her bed. The bed was made, his note lay on a pillow. “You could have woken me.” He searched her face.

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful. After… your note… I wanted to let you enjoy it.”

Anders held his hand open flat. A smile of relief stretched on its own when she took his hand. “How do you feel?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “Surprisingly good.” She shook her head and gave a small wince. _“Good_ isn’t the right word. I don’t really know how to explain it.” Her eyes moved side to side. Anders recognized the search. “Different.” Her eyes returned to his; it was almost too overwhelming for him again. “I think I’ve needed that for a long time. Like…” her eyes drifted with a light gloss. “Since Loghain.” The man who ruined her original womb. “The potion.” She looked at Anders again. “I _think_ I’ve _needed_ that for _years._ It’s still hurts, but…” Before Anders could blink, her eyes flooded and spilled. “I feel _clear_ inside for the _first time._ It’s not all kn- _knotted up_ in here anymore,” her voice broke off in a whisper as her open hand hovered at her head.

Anders caught the tears before she could. Tess searched him as he cleared her cheeks. More tears spilled over his thumb, and he hurt for _her_ again. Not for himself anymore.

“I’m sorry, Anders,” she beat him to speech. “I’m _so sorry._ I didn’t know I was--” she squeezed her eyes to get the tears out. “I didn’t know it you hurt too. I didn’t-” she gasped a breath and pushed a palm across her face. Anders tipped her head back up to see her eyes.

“Tess, it’s okay,” he assured her. He held her neck and slid his thumb at her jaw.

“It’s _not._ I _know_ that now. I jus- but I _couldn’t help it.”_ Her eyes pleaded with him. “The _whole time_ I - since Hi- _Highever,”_ she needed to get this out. Anders understood that. “I felt like a _brick,_ and it was _easier_ to _be_ one than try to sw- _swim up.”_ Anders’ eyes clouded. As soon as he opened his arms, she fell into him. He kissed the side of her head as she cried into him. _“It just hurts so bad._ I fai- _failed._ _What_ kind of woman can’t even make _one_ b- _baby?”_ she sobbed.

Anders didn’t bother wiping his face. “The _best_ often can’t, Tess. _That wasn’t your fault,”_ he reminded her. He held her tight, rubbed her back. Turned and opened to her so he could hold her closer.

It was so different than yesterday. Anders still hurt because _she_ hurt; he suspected it would always be the case. _But now he knew._ He didn’t pity himself now. He _broke through._ She had a way _forward_ now. _They_ had a way forward. He took a leap with the elixir and it proved worth it; more than he could have guessed.

Anders closed his eyes, cradling her head at his neck. Her arms, her voice, even her tears made the day better already. “Thank you for taking the potion, Tess.” He meant it more than he knew how to say.

 

A welcome change washed over the Keep. Tess was almost a new person. Her fog lifted, allowing fresh air and sunlight to touch her again. She was quieter than usual, lost in thought throughout the day; she’d said her head was clear for the first time. But she took tea with him, ate with him again. She asked him to walk outside with her. She asked about their other Wardens, even suggested she and Anders ride after them if they didn’t return in a couple days. It was all promising. It let _Anders_ breathe.

In the evening, she took him the nook she shared with Nathaniel. _The Roost,_ they called it: a series of ladders and rafters that led to an archer turret seldom used because of its poor location. In other words, it was too damned hard to reach every day. It was the place the cousins drank together; and by countless miracles managed to climb down drunk without killing themselves. Anders laughed when she said the alcohol often wore off by the time she and Nathaniel returned to the ground.

Up in _The Roost_ with a view of the horizon, Tess sat with Anders, wrapped together in wool. The blanket wrapped them twice, but still they snuggled to stay warm from the chill breeze, sharing a bottle of wine. Anders watched the stars appear and the moon rise that night with his favorite person back in his arms.

Tess asked him to make her more potions, if Anders could make enough for each day. She offered to help. If he could teach her how, she could make her own. Tess didn’t want forget what it felt like to think _without fog and chains_ again.

 

Come morning, Tess was gone. No note, no belongings missing. She couldn’t have gone far, though Anders didn’t discount it; she once made a spontaneous escape to Denerim with nothing but the clothes on her back. After a fruitless search around the Keep, Anders asked guardsmen outside. Despite the night ended so well, the rest of the past two weeks still concerned him. He couldn’t be sure how well his potion worked for another week or so.

A gatehouse guard pointed towards the gardens. Anders guessed _past_ the gardens. Her Safe Space. It was relief Anders relished. Tess went to her Safe Space to center herself. Folding up his collar to keep the breeze out, he felt better already about how he’d find her.

Tess wasn’t in her Safe Space, but he found evidence she’d been there. More like a trail. Two miniature pyres sat on the grass, no longer smoking but not as cold as the air yet. Not far was the nearest tree - or what used to be a tree. Anders approached it in caution. A sinister skeleton of a tree: bark like crumpled paper folded around like a fan. Pushing with his fingertip flicked bark off almost like flakes. Curious, if not concerning. Down towards the creek, a few weeds held the same destruction, and past that, another tree. From the withered plants, Anders assumed Tess was angry.

He walked another few minutes before he found her. Tess _looked_ angry. Rigid, sharp movements. Hard face lined with determination. Up ahead, a trunk and branches twisted and shriveled like a Nevarran mummy as water inside acted like blood at her command. Curious indeed, and startling. He knew Tess had interesting magic of her own, but this was new.

“Good morning,” she grunted.

“I wonder that myself…” Anders watched her hold the water in air as mist. Then she turned it to tiny shards of ice and sent it flying back into the tree. “Do these trees represent anyone?” he asked.

“No. I needed dry wood. I only meant to take one branch at first, but,” she huffed, “I took the whole tree on accident. It _disturbed_ me when I realized what I did. But I think I need to practice. For Kal’Hirol. I think it could help us down there.”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed, examining a dehydrated tree from a distance. “Is there a lot of water underground? Or trees?” He reached out to touch it. Like dried mud in a heat wave after rain. A tad unsettling. Had they not been trees, this might be considered blood magic; botanical-style. He never saw elemental magic practiced this in-depth at the Circle. He was sure Tevinter had information on this depth of magic. It seemed the sort of thing to excite a Magister.

“No. I’m hoping those grub-things have water in them. Then maybe… we won’t need to get up close.” Tess paused for a deep breath. Stretched her neck and her arms. “I named her,” she said. She screwed up her face again and stiffened, and jerked on the air. Water pulled from another tree beyond. Disturbing, yet fascinating.

“Named her?” He echoed. Tess strained again. From the corner of his eye, the mist rolled into a puddle above ground and froze.

“The baby. _Adalyn._ That’s what the pyres are for. What I needed dry wood for. Adalyn and Velanna.” With a hard clench of her jaw, Tess shattered the ice.

Pyres for the miscarried fetus and for Velanna.

Tess was angry at _herself._

“It’s the Maker slapping me. I stole someone’s womb, so He punished me.”

“Tess…” Anders ached for her again. Now able to grieve instead of wallow, only for guilt to burden her.

“You know, during the Blight, Alistair wanted me fixed. My _head_ fixed. We had treaties for the Circle, but he wanted to take me there anyway. He thought the First Enchanter could fix my head.” She shook her head. “He _couldn’t._ Of course. But… after that potion you made me… I think he should have tried. I think Alistair was right. There is _something wrong_ with my _head.”_

“It’s an antidepressant, Tess. It helps with _mood,_ and anxiety. It lets thoughts process like they’re supposed to, so the bad ones don’t get stuck in focus and keep you down. That’s it.” Anders shook his head. “You’re _not insane.”_

“But it’s _working._ I mean…” Tess breathed hard and deep. “It doesn’t stop anything from _hurting,_ but… it’s not just _Tess the Brick_ stuck at the bottom of the well anymore. It hasn’t _always_ been like that, but since we left _Highever,_ and after _Loghain,_ and _each withdrawal._ And each time I drank _lyrium._ Or _sank_ my _blade_ into someone for _coin._ And when Alistair _left_ me and _lied.”_ Her eyes moved in recollection. “That’s _most_ of my _life,_ Anders. I’ve been running from that _feeling_ the whole time, but I didn’t know it till now. I didn’t know it was a _feeling,_ not a _place_ or a _person._ I _know_ I’ve _done_ things to… people who were trying to help me. Like Velanna. And _you,_ these past days, and _Alistair._ To _Nathaniel._ And Pádraig. I’m not… trying to _rationalize_ what I’ve done anymore. I’ve _needed_ it. Probably needed that potion my _whole life._ And I think… the Maker won’t let me be a mother until I _fix_ myself.”

Anders didn’t know what to say. There was no reversing time to make sure she had the potion growing up to make her adult life different. He could only help her move forward as her doctor and the… _a_ man who loved her.

Although… he knew one way to share _himself._ He was unsure it would mean the same for her as it did him, but it was all he had to expose the last of himself, after there was nothing left of _her_ to expose to _him._ He watched her for a while before taking a deep breath, about to make the biggest step he’d ever made.

"Baldric Hewett Meier.”

Tess turned, wincing in confusion. “What?”

Anders wet his lips. “Hewett was my grandfather’s name. I never knew him. My parents met in Hossberg, and after my grandfather died, they moved to Linderfeld.” He met her eyes.

“The oat fields?” Tess searched him.

He nodded. “North of Lothering. Oats and squash. Mostly oats. Small town, big families. Lots and lots of oats.” He stared back. This was harder - and easier - than he imagined. The last part of him he’d kept safe from the world. The one thing that tied him to his phylactery. _His true self._ He’d never told _anyone._ The only thing he had of himself _to_ share. “My father started crops in a field others thought was barren and took the surname Meier, and… _I_ was born. Baldric Hewett Meier. Son of Barrett and Marna.” He paused again. Tess searched him in helpless recognition. She didn’t know what to say to this admission. Anders glanced to the ground, where the toe of his shoe dug into the dirt though bold green grass. “My _father_ sent for the Templars. I… _frightened_ him. That pillow I keep on my bed… my mother made that for me. It was all I was allowed to take.” He forced himself to find her face again. “Overtime, I learned how to wear it under my robes without anyone noticing.”

“Lind -” Tess’ brow upturned and her bottom lip took pout. “Linderfeld fell during the Blight.”

“I know. That wasn’t your fault, either, Tess.”

“We walked through it to find the elves because Lothering was gone. We walked between crops.”

 _“It wasn’t your fault, Tess,”_ he insisted.

Her eyes drifted in thought he couldn’t read. Anders took a deep breath and shifted his weight.

“Baldric?” Tess raised her head.

Anders smiled for her. “Baldric,” he echoed.

“Does… Nathaniel know?”

“No. Only you.”

“I thought… it was your _Safe_ Place?” she asked.

His head fell aside as his brows pinched with his heart. He didn’t know how else to show her. She was the point where love and a pain he couldn’t stop collided in his heart, tore him inside out, and made him a new man altogether. A man he’d only _dreamed_ of becoming. A pain he only knew was _natural because_ of her. Maybe even a love that only came _with_ pain, and the fear of losing it all. She exposed dark recesses of herself to _him,_ he was part of _all_ of her now. Anders never felt so close to someone before. He didn’t know how to tell her what she meant to him. “Tess, you are the safest place I know.”

They stared for a moment. True self to true self. Nothing left to hide. Nothing left to reveal, and yet here they both _stayed._ He loved all of her, even when it hurt. Maybe because the hurt woke him to awareness. He _knew_ he loved her _because_ it hurt. They had one Safe Place and it was each other.

Distance disappeared between them with open arms. Breath caught between pressing lips. Overflowing affection elicited moans in a tightening hold. _It felt different._ They kissed to breathe the other in, to feel and pull the tenderness they bared with no guarantees moments ago. _Love. He loved her._ Deep kisses and firm arms let him show what he could not tell her yet. He wanted to feel this forever.

Hands began to busy. Her fingers fumbled with buttons and ties. He tugged at her blouse. Heavy coats hid bodies, sneaking cold air in around eager hands and hungry skin. Wet tongues invited the breeze, sending shivers down spines, drawing hips closer. He dropped below her, freed a leg of cloth, raked his fingers down as he wrapped a long limb around his waist. Reached down to yank his smalls. Didn’t need to stroke himself to be ready so soon. Watched her eyes as he positioned himself; twitched as she gasped when he grazed her core. Eyes rolled when he pushed, breath and moans, arms squeezed him closer. His mouth hung open at her jaw. He thrust to _feel_ her, not for relief. Slow, _filling_ her. More perfect than it ever felt. _Making love for sake of being close, for loving her._ Expending his _whole self_ into her.

He wanted _her_ forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.  
> Anders' real name is still canonically unknown. This is my story, my ideas. My personal additions to fill in blanks that pertain to my story alone.


	26. Endurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Sigrun changes perspective for Ferelden's Wardens. They are now determined to end the Darkspawn haunting Amaranthine. Not for glory or to restore honor, but to give their prolonged deaths meaning when life failed them. Collecting King Alistair in Denerim also reveals aspects of life and love Tess and Anders must consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Impossible, by Two Steps From Hell, ft Merethe Soltvedt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qTghUgMOeY)

_So this is what it’s like to be in love._

Anders stared at his reflection. He looked the same as always, only… different. Grounded. _Floating._ A man with family, now. _A man with something to lose._

A man with reason to make the world a better place so any children he… _they_ … might have would always know their parents.

He watched the woman above him. Watched her tongue at the corner of her open mouth while her brows furrowed in concentration. He stared in Tess’ brilliant green eyes as she scraped the razor along his jaw. Anders fought a smile when she lifted her own chin as she shaved his.

A beautiful woman who found peace with him. A beautiful woman he could laugh and cry with. Someone who knew his deepest secrets, and shared her own. She loved his magic as any other part of him.

Maybe Anders was closer to his dream than he imagined.

 

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_My cousin brought home a dwarf. Cracked ribs, concussed, infected wounds that began festering before Nathaniel, Oghren, and Justice found her. With injury kits, they brought her swelling and pain down, but Sigrun doesn’t know how long she’d been in Kal’Hirol. She does not know how long she’s had wounds. Sigrun, the last of the Legion of the Dead, basking in Anders’ healing spells, thinks she’s only alive now because she ran. The other women were dragged off, the Legion overwhelmed, and Sigrun “let cowardice overcome” her. It does no good to assure running for her life is not cowardice; she believes she left her mates for dead. Nathaniel, Oghren, Justice, and the hounds saved her from true death as she broke surface._

_It’s not long before she falls asleep from potions. Anders thinks Sigrun may need counseling. He’s willing to sit with her and try to help her work through guilt, but I’m the most practice he’s had with psychology. He says I may need to hire a specialist from Tevinter or Seheron if he can’t help Sigrun._

_Nathaniel was also injured but the Keep’s medic patched him up while we attended to Sigrun. He refuses to sleep off his healing, claiming it is “only a flesh wound.” He settles for a strong healing spell from Anders while he fills in blanks from Sigrun’s tale:_

_When they found Sigrun, they applied as much of an injury kit as she allowed before running back underground. Kal’Hirol did not resemble Orzammar with so much filth. My cousin describes vines and pods and swells of what looked like melted flesh. Statues desecrated and “redecorated,” Nathaniel says, with crude spears and splintered planks. Darkspawn filth from sight to smell, things Oghren saw in Bownammar during the Blight. Sigrun had told them, before pain potions made her giddy, the Legion saw numbers of Darkspawn never seen before in a single thaig outside a Blight. She did not see the larval spawn we encountered in Blackmarsh, but she remembered cocoons. They stood out in her memory only because she’d never seen one before. Sigrun then recalled Kardol, the previous lieutenant of the Legion, saw cocoons on the surface and thought it odd for moths to spawn underground._

_I remember Kardol. We met him in the Dead Trenches, he and his five Legionnaires helped us through the lost Dead Thaig. Kardol helped Alistair, Oghren, and me defeat the Archdemon. I considered the dwarf a friend._

_It’s unnerving to know Kardol survived the Archdemon to be overwhelmed years later by mere darkspawn. Nathaniel and Sigrun say Kal’Hirol was overrun, but the numbers I see in my head match the largest force I saw in the Deep Roads - that is, very few. I saw more spiders and deepstalkers at once than I ever saw darkspawn. Even as Nathaniel says they needed to retreat after a single encounter, it is hard to imagine such a force. I only saw such a force at Ostagar when Cailan died and in Denerim when the Archdemon marched the entire horde._

_It’s frightening. I remember Ostagar, the Deep Roads, and burning Denerim all too clear. I remember the Taint scorching through my veins, bringing me to my knees when the Archdemon flew overhead. Riordan had said if the Archdemon succeeded at Denerim, the spawn planned to retreat underground “nearby” and resurface again in the Free Marches to march on Tevinter. Vigil’s Keep basement opening to the Deep Roads is “nearby” Denerim, as is Kal’Hirol. Though the Darkspawn retreated to their tunnels in the Korcari Wilds, it would take them no time to reach Vigil’s Keep or Kal’Hirol. And if the section of the Deep Roads beneath the Keep isn’t already part of Kal’Hirol…_

_Frightening is not a strong enough word. I am now convinced this is how the Darkspawn overwhelmed the Orlesian Wardens. Even worse than_ **worse than frightening** _is the notion an army of darkspawn breeding beneath Amaranthine. Aside from surface attacks, the people of Amaranthine sit naive to the true horrors below. I now understand what Kardol said during the Blight: “Your nightmare is our every day.”_

_I’m not sure I hold my face well. Anders grows concerned just by looking at me. Meeting his gaze and Nathaniel’s airs a silent theory: maybe the Archdemon has returned, and maybe The Mother is… Morrigan._

_As if Alistair isn’t already scared of this expedition._

_Maybe he’s right. Maybe I_ **should** _practice my Holy Smites. I now think Alistair had more right to push me produce them on call than he knew._

_We also run the idea of therapy by Nathaniel. He suggests we wait to be sure how deep her guilt goes. While it could be the pain potions, the brief encounter in Kal’Hirol and the ride back proved Sigrun functioned well. Nathaniel compares Sigrun to my condition when he, Oghren, and Justice left: Sigrun is nowhere near the state I was in. But, he impresses, the pain potions make her giddy; as they affect many people. We may not know her true mood till she is healed._

_Anders prescribes Sigrun one week of bed rest to ensure her wounds are not growing fungus spores from underground. He also plans for an hour each day to sit and talk with her. Nathaniel was right to compare Sigrun to me. If my daily potions stop working_ **and** _Sigrun needs extreme therapy, the boys will have more than they can juggle, and the breeding darkspawn army will overwhelm them. While Anders works with Sigrun, I must make sure to keep myself focused on our task ahead and take care of myself._

_With this week now free, I linger at the borders of the Keep’s property, away from crop, house, and people. Where it doesn’t matter how much ground I tear up. When he’s not attending to Sigrun, Anders - Baldric when I’m alone with him - watches me practice Templar skills that could kill us both. As every other attempt to summon a Smite, I struggle, and the longer I struggle, the harder it becomes to achieve it. Unlike Alistair who pushes and yells at me to train, Anders has advice. He’s unsure how to perform a Smite himself, but Templar talents are variations of spirit magic. A Templar’s area Cleanse equals a mage’s area Dispel Burst, and a Holy Smite compares to a mage’s Mana Clash; minus knocking nearby others off their feet. Anders says if I only powered Templar talents with lyrium, it may be easier for me, however, now I am a mage. With intent being such a strong factor for spells, my intent itself may be confused. The way he teaches harnessing mana suggests it and the intent required to use it almost have life of their own, like lyrium has its own version of consciousness. Anders suggests I approach Templar talents as nothing more than new mage spells, and draw power from my mana rather than the lyrium in my bones. He recalls I told him I once conjured a Holy Smite of frost. He suspects I’ll be able to summon Holy Smites easier if I try to summon columns of Mana Clashes instead of pulling energy down from the sky. Combing a Dispelling Burst and a Mana Clash should rival a Holy Smite; a deadly two-in-one._

_Anders sets barriers on the ground away from us; simple, small domes over weeds rather than people. Though Mana Clashes won’t knock anyone - or the weeds - off their feet, the goal is to try. Spirit damage should not, by all known laws of magic and nature, affect plants, but achieving such a feat means it will also work on people and darkspawn. None of my attempts come in the form of columns, rather a ball of energy that manifests in mid-air and grows until it explodes; similar to an anti-magic burst. It is something, when we did not know what to expect. It impels Anders, and so motivates me to produce my best._

_After a few tries and intense concentration, I’m able to create a burst that destroys the barrier and pushes the ground till grass and soil fly up. The ground trembles a little beneath our feet each time, like a magic version of a catapult attack. For a spell that may injure - or kill - us as any Holy Smite could, it’s an exciting achievement. If I grow comfortable conjuring these, Anders can focus on healing and empowering us in Kal’Hirol._

_Anders recalls the ball of energy the Architect conjured to cave in the broken wall. The ball of energy formed in the air, exploded with light, and produced the rock slide. He says this new spell I have created reminds him of that spell. Anders thinks mine can damage like the Architect’s. He asks me to try adding frost to this mage-version of a Holy Smite. Intent, as he insists, is the most powerful force on the planet. And correct he is. Combining the two spells with a third creates another new spell, more powerful than he imagined. Combing my new Clashing Burst with frost creates a crater of angry, jagged ice. Combining it with the Archdemon’s spirit fire creates a clear eye surrounded by whirling purple fire that licks at the grass around. It does no harm to the greens, but in people it would cause severe agony before sudden death; I remember the pain of absorbing such fire on Fort Drakon’s roof. Combining the Clashing Burst with regular fire creates a scorched eye and bold, angry flames_ **whoosh** _upon the ground like a controlled wildfire… until it catches surrounding grass on fire and spreads for freedom._

_Anders quenches the fire with a layer of frost and a thrilled grin. He asks if we can kidnap darkspawn to try these new spells on._

_Anders asks about the Architect again. Learning these new spell are like the Architect’s magic suggests spells made from combined spells have always been around. Anders suspects our base spell - Clashing Burst - shares roots with what the Architect did - meaning, it is ancient. No known book speaks of these spells we’ve created, but the Chantry could have removed it from texts to better control mages. What better way to control their behavior by controlling what magic they’re allowed to learn? It already happens with history. He wonders if this is why mages can only learn blood magic from demons, these days. No human is born knowing how to use the energy within a person as fuel for magic. Anders also theorizes the Architect is ancient, even one of the first Magisters who entered the Golden City and returned Tainted. Spells like the ones we’re creating are far too dangerous for “good” mages. From surgical knowledge, cunning in experiments, and the burst of energy that crumbled solid rock, Anders believes the Architect has a hand in the army breeding at Kal’Hirol, including The Mother._

_Anders feels the Archdemon may not need to return if someone like the Architect orchestrates the darkspawn. The Architect may be as dangerous or more than the Archdemon. It is a disturbing thought indeed. I agree when he assumes we will need an army to defeat the one breeding underground._

_Considering the Architect may have caused The Mother, the talking hurlocks, and the grub spawn to behave as they have is worrisome. When I’m not practicing my new spells or meeting with Seneschal Varel on Keep business, I sit with Sigrun. In part to keep her company, in part to learn more about the Legion’s battles in Kal’Hirol. Between Anders’ time with her and my own, and Nathaniel’s visits, we conclude Sigrun doesn’t need a specialist. Support - knowing we will help make her survival worth it and avenge the Legion - assures her. Assured and now more at ease, Sigrun confers with less struggle. All she needed was a promise to help finish the mission of the Order that made her death a thing of worth to Orzammar; where her birth meant nothing._

_It is something we all relate to. I may have been born noble, but my life meant nothing after Loghain, and only sacrificing myself to kill the Archdemon placed value upon me. The event that should have killed me is the only reason I am respected by my own country. As soon as his talents emerged, Anders was nothing to the world - until he became a Warden, where his passion for Healing makes a difference. Anders healing Wardens ensures Wardens continue to fight so others may live without worry. Nathaniel’s own father despised him since birth, and only in becoming a Warden does his feel life important. He encouraged the Warden-Commander - the one who killed the Archdemon and thus hunted by The Mother - to not give up so soon. Justice in the Fade was only another spirit, though with the knowledge and body of the Warden he possesses, his existence can change fates - as justice ought to. Justice can help bring freedom to innocents he could not save from the Fade. Oghren's own Caste rejected him for embracing talents it demanded of him, yet only now as a Warden is he - and the sacrifice of embracing such talents - appreciated. Oghren is_ **trusted** _as a warrior now. Like Sigrun, we all belong to an Order that ensures our deaths mean something when our lives did not. Our entire time as Grey Wardens is a prolonged dying service to the world._

_Until now, prolonged death seemed a curse._

_Sigrun makes us proud to be Grey Wardens. We enjoyed the kinship already, but now we are proud of the sacrifice we endure each day._

_In Peace, Vigilance. In War, Victory. In Death, Sacrifice._

_Fitting we are the Wardens of Amaranthine, when Amaranthine means Unfading. The never-ending sacrifice of Grey Wardens; I sense another hand from the Maker. The Grey Warden motto holds weight for me now. It is not just about ending Blights. I_ **know** _that now._

_I am grateful my cousin had the sense to investigate Knotwood Hills while I laid sunken in bed._

 

_The new ambiance of our station resonates. We all listen with the intent to continue sacrificing, and Sigrun recalls the horrors with less struggle. She describes the old thaig as Nathaniel did, a mess of gore and cocoons. She recalls only a few ways to end the new Darkspawn, says their armor and weapons are more clever than before. Sigrun says the Legion was not prepared for cunning darkspawn. We tell her of the talking hurlocks we’ve met, and it is not long before we begin brainstorming weaknesses of these new monsters. It will take deep recollection from us all - Blackmarsh, Wending Wood, the Blight and the Deep Roads - but we believe we can defeat them. It is teamwork inspired like we’ve never considered before. We are not doing this for our lives, nor any country. Not even for death._

_We strive now to uphold the meaning of sacrifice._

_Sigrun arriving at the Keep set in motion a string of events more than she’s already affected us. I am more grateful than I can say. Each new day helps keep my mind too busy to dwell on miscarrying; though I know the antidepressant potions I take work wonders. My mind is able to stay on the task at hand instead of wading in heartache. It’s refreshing, even when I must scribble to keep all my thoughts before they disappear. I go over the notes Zevran, Oghren, and Pádraig made when they taught Nathaniel and Anders. Nathaniel was right: Zevran drew all monsters the same. The only difference from each figure is height or width; sketching is the one art he can’t manage. I’m not the best artist either, but my drawings are much more identifiable. When I’ve finished, I show Anders and Nathaniel, and point out the weak points of each race, be it darkspawn, spiders, or deepstalkers. Better to go in prepared, than continue in folly learning as they go along. Learning as we go along gained me all the hideous scars the Architect healed me of._

_My boys lean over alert. As I point out darkspawn vulnerabilities and at what distance I can feel each type of spawn, as I recall aloud how clean, shining metal distracts darkspawn and glares of light blind them... I realize I am teaching. Teaching Nathaniel and Anders to be Wardens, not simply fight the darkspawn. I am training, and from how eager they listen, it appears I’m better at it than I guessed. I’m training new Wardens as a Warden-Commander ought to._

_I do not intend to train someone to replace me; I do not wish to leave, and I can better supply my Wardens as Queen. But I’m trying to train them as if they_ **need** _to replace me. At last, I am teaching as I_ **should.** _Teaching as I wish_ **I** _had been taught. As my Wardens_ **deserve** _to be taught. So I can ensure_ **their** _sacrifices mean something._

_We sit with Sigrun as her week of bedrest ends. She surprises us again with a natural talent for art, and with her corrections, we see darkspawn manifest on paper as we’ve seen them in person. Me, Nathaniel, Anders and Oghren compare our tactics to the Legion’s. Anders tells what spells are most effective against the darkspawn he’s fought. While this only helps Anders and me, it opens new windows of strategy for the others. If magic can weaken certain points in armor, weapons can easier pierce, if not outright fell a spawn. Nathaniel makes little circles with colored ink where his arrows lodged or made instant kills. Oghren points out places in darkspawn armor his axe has a hard time piercing. Sigrun makes marks with another colored ink where her daggers slid in easiest. She also draws curved lines to indicate motion range of Shrieks and genlock rogues, the limits of movement; something I’ve never considered before. The day after she is allowed out of bed, we meet as a group with Justice and he adds in his own expertise and experience._

_Conferring with Justice inspires Anders. Justice can utilize his own energy - that is, energy of the Fade - to protect himself. I’ve seen him do this in battle before, but I never thought to ask how. Justice explains he creates a shell on Kristoff’s decaying body that acts as a sort of tear in the Veil. A tear in the Veil along the body, but does not open the body itself into it, thus Justice utilizes the Fade without risk of another spirit or demon entering the corpse. The shell allows a portion of incoming damage absorb into the Fade, minimizing how much physical damage the body takes. Justice can then harness the force absorbed into the Fade by the shell and thrust it back out from the body in bursts, where it damages those nearby. Anders sits eager and explains mage barrier spells work the same way as Justice’s shell. He has never taken the damage absorbed into the Fade and returned it, because he doesn’t have the required connection, but it gives him ideas._

_The lyrium inside me allowed the Tevinter living-rune experiments to occur. Me absorbing spells and returning them works almost identical to Justice’s shell. The reason lyrium works as fuel for spells is because the Fade is where lyrium and magic originated; according to legend. In present day, lyrium is a physical thing outside the Fade, but it roots from inside it. Anders recalls how the raw from within the Fade differs from the lyrium outside. A common theory is the Fade is a physical plane that once overlapped Thedas and made the two realms one - until some time later when something separated them. Dalish stories tell of a time when all elves walked the Fade as anywhere in Thedas, thus Anders assumes the Veil was not always present. But it coinciding with Thedas allowed for lyrium to grow outside the Fade once the separation occurred._

_He also says to ignore the Chantry teaching the Fade is an intangible realm of dreams and spirits. Ancient Magisters and ancient elves physically walked it, proving the Chantry preaches lies and claims “Impossible” or “Forbidden” for any answers they lack._

_Anders is all but a child on holiday when he suggests the lyrium inside me may allow Justice to include me with him beyond the Veil_ **because** _lyrium originated there. Just as Justice originated beyond the Veil. As in, if Justice grabs me during battle, he can activate the shell and the shell may recognize me as an extension of him, like a weapon. Anders insists we try it, and if Justice can include me Beyond the Veil, then another week of training is in order before we ride out. Maybe then we won't need an entire army to clear Kal'Hirol._

 _Sigrun is the first person in known history to belong in both the Legion of the Dead and the Grey Wardens. I warn of the risk, I also explain how the Joining makes Grey Wardens effective against darkspawn. Despite the idea for her to join was mine, I make sure it is something Sigrun wants. From the others’ accounts, Sigrun is a talented warrior. She will make a strong addition to the Wardens. But I recall Velanna, and Nathaniel, Anders, and Oghren. I remember Mhairi. All are and were exceptional Grey Wardens. But I recruited half in vengeance, Mhairi died too soon against her will, and Velanna… well, one selfish act ended her time as a Warden before she saw fruit of her Joining. If Velanna wanted to return to her clan, she can never do so because of me. As Sigrun is casteless, I doubt she would return to Orzammar, but she wants to experience the surface world. The Grey Wardens are lucky Sigrun of the Legion of the Dead wishes to be more effective against the darkspawn to avenge her fallen comrades._ **I** _am lucky._

_I doubt I need to express how grateful I am Sigrun survives the Joining. I can’t imagine explaining to King Bhelen why the last of his Legion cannot return to Orzammar._

_While Sigrun sleeps off her Joining, Anders leads Justice and me out where I practiced my version of Holy Smites. In a way, Justice in Kristoff’s body is like a Templar, only instead of harnessing lyrium from a potion, Justice uses Fade energies of his own essence. Justice, in fact, is able to perform Templar talents easier than seasoned active Templars. They come effortless to him and he requires no cool down before summoning another. The Spirit of Justice itself is a piece of the raw Fade, meaning Kristoff’s body has access no living human does. It’s the reason Justice can cloak the body beyond the Veil and Burst with energy from the Fade. Since Anders can hold me and wrap vines and roots around us as one, he theorizes Justice can do the same with his shell. If he is correct, Anders will test spells against us._

_There are three things I count as my strangest experiences in life. One: Becoming the Spirit Man, the Burning Man, the Golem, and the Mouse inside the Fade at Kinloch Hold. Two: Feeling the Archdemon’s spirit and magic flow through me when it died. And three: Going beyond the Veil with Justice. I don’t think I’ve physically moved, but I feel… hazy. It feels like I’m wispy, fuzzy fog. I don’t know how to explain it right, it’s… strange. I see Anders well, I see Nathaniel and Oghren approach. Beyond them is the raw Fade, it’s all around me. Not clear, but present with its green hue and distant floating set of islands; the Black City. Here, I see both worlds as if they were one, or as if the Fade bleeds into my reality. Anders, Nathaniel, and Oghren are also covered in a greenish tint. I can’t see Justice, though I know he’s with me. I can’t smell Kristoff’s decaying body like this either. I can’t feel Justice or see him when I turn my head, but I hear his voice loud and clear. It’s almost like I have actually become part of Justice’s body. A fuzzy, cloudy part of Justice’s body. Fluffy like fur about to blow away any moment. At the same time, I hear my Wardens’ voices as if we all stand together, not separated by a fuzzy Veil tear._

_The shell dropping is another strange experience. One second it’s around my entire body, the next it’s gone. No more greenish tint, no more Black City floating beyond. No more feeling like Justice’s winter down. Justice is also no longer part of me, I can turn and find him now. When I look over, Anders asks how I feel, what it was like. I could see them and the Fade, whereas from the outside looking in, we've only seen Justice wrapped in a purple blur. From the look in his eyes, I suspect Anders is envious I can experience this and he cannot. With a grin, Anders asks if I’m ready to try it again, this time to see how much damage the shell absorbs. Anders will start with weak spells and increase potency, Nathaniel will shoot arrows at Justice’s shield, and Oghren will stand near to accept the spirit damage Justice thrusts out._

_And another strange experience. I’m not fond of this beyond-the-Veil shell, though I know I am one of the few to even witness such a thing. I watch Fade-glazed Anders light up his hands in fire, then ice, then I watch rock fly at us. Each impact vibrates the Veil-tear shell, and I feel either heat or cold or a shove. I hear Justice answer Anders’ questions of well-being. My own reply almost doesn’t feel like it comes from me. When Justice sucks in energy from the Fade, I feel it swell around me, and I see flashes of light that stagger Oghren. But the arms that move feel like mine. When Justice raises his shield and Nathaniel’s arrow vibrate the shell, it is my other arm bracing it. The arm clutching me to Justice_ **feels** _like my arm. It’s like I have four arms, instead of two. A most strange experience; and my whole life has been a strange experience._

_We don’t need an extra week to practice Justice pulling me beyond the Veil. After the first session of testing impact, Anders is satisfied. He looks relieved, and I think I understand. One less thing to worry about when we venture into overrun Kal’Hirol. It will leave Anders, and Alistair, free to help the others. Less of a chance I’ll be killed for killing the Archdemon, or dragged away._

_In the last few hours of daylight, Anders practices moving through soil. He grabs each of us one by one and moves us to another part of land. In particular, he practices moving me and Nathaniel as quick as he can. Anders does not need to explain for me or my cousin to understand: we are his only family since he was taken to the Circle. He has already made us his priority for Kal’Hirol._

_His desire not to lose his only family aches me. I don’t want to lose him either, nor Nathaniel. I will work my hardest down there to make sure my boys come back home alive with me._

_Sigrun waking with the sunrise prompts riding to Denerim. While we intend to stop back here on our ride to Knotwood Hills, we have last minute readying before we head out. Sigrun does not need pain potions to stay perky. She’s enthusiastic about everything, from surface meals to getting measured for riding pants and gloves. She’s eager for new armor, also, though hers will not be ready until we return from Denerim. For now, Sigrun will ride with us dressed as a noble. She is so ecstatic to be off bedrest she helps servants carry waterskins and food to the Keep doors to await our departure._

_The idea for matching armor came from Anders and Oghren joking about forming a club of two men nothing alike. After thought, I liked the idea. At the Landsmeet during the Blight, I wore black leather and chainmail with part of a silverite shield as a breastplate. Black and silver stood out against colorful nobles and the elite guard’s red steel, against Alistair’s maroon and gold armor. A herd of silver and black will stand out anywhere in Ferelden, even dark underground. I let my Wardens choose their own style of armor, but black and silver rule our uniforms. Anders mixes style with comfort and leather; light armor that will allow him to move as needed to aid or dodge. Nathaniel is ever practical; an attached hood, pockets, loops, chainmail reinforced with leather and quilted wool. Oghren favors heavy armor, as close to impossible to dent as Master Wade can make. Justice moves in massive armor with ease; with this and his Beyond the Veil trick, he will be near unstoppable in battle. While Sigrun’s isn’t made yet, she chose a mix of medium and heavy armor, also with pockets; and like me, she likes knowing her feet are protected. All uniforms bear a two-headed gryphon, the Grey Warden insignia, in obvious places; shoulders, chest, belts, or the back._

_Only one thing separates the Commander from the rest of her Wardens: the one-headed gryphon on my breastplate. It is blue and white, and enchanted to preserve; not a decal. It's the former shield of my old Commander Duncan._

_We will need to change our uniform colors in a few years if the Keep guards remain in silverite armor. But for now, walking through town as a unit will draw eyes. Everyone will know we are Grey Wardens._

_Readying to ride to Denerim brings anxiety for Anders and me. One reason I go is to tell Alistair of the miscarriage. Anders says I was about six weeks along when it happened. While there is a chance the miscarried babe was Anders’, it was most likely Alistair’s. I need to tell my husband. If Fergus’ maids talk and Fergus tells Alistair first, things will get ugly. I don’t know if I can love Alistair again like I used to, but it’s best I remain his Queen, and I’d like to be friends with him. For once, I’d like to be someone he considers an equal, like he sees all his friends. If friends are all we end up, it would not be so bad to be like Maric and Rowan. But if Fergus tells Alistair first about my miscarriage, animosity will bloom._ **I** _must tell my husband… and Anders and I expect Alistair to want to try again. One way or another, there will be discomfort at the palace._

 _Anders will distance himself from me at the palace; even stay in my family’s Denerim home, if need be. He knows he will have no choice but to share me with my husband. But he wants time alone with me before we leave. Anders - my Baldric - wants to sleep next to me, wants to feel my skin all night. He wants to play “lover - no,_ **Husband** ,” _he says, whenever he can. Here at the Keep away from Alistair is the only place he can ever play the part with me. He is already wary of Kal’Hirol knowing he won’t be able to run to me for comfort when he needs it; Alistair will be there every step._

_I watch him while he sleeps. Baldric Hewett Meier. My Anders man who’s only half-Anders and has never seen that country. There is a purity in him I don’t think anything could corrupt. He wants everyone to feel safe and comfortable in their own skin. From his Circle stories, he’s annoyed by people who repeat self-harming incidents. Even things like miscarriages are used for attention or medication there. But all in all, Anders values life and the freedom to live as a person. He does not wish anyone seen as a dangerous beast needing to be caged. It’s what brought us together. We understand each other. Being Grey Wardens together brought us each someone we needed._

_I believe in destiny, that things happen for a reason and the Maker already has countless paths mapped out for us. If Nathaniel and I chose to engage instead, there would be a path already planned for that. I believe the Maker put Anders here with his Templar guards, and I believe He made Anders into a man passionate about Healing people. As I believe working for Loghain readied me to be The One to kill the Archdemon. Loghain leashing me with lyrium prepared me for absorbing the Archdemon’s magic and needing a tutor. Same as my and Nathaniel’s different lives crossed against all odds and reunited us into a stronger family than ever before. I believe by needing help I now receive from the antidepressant potions but not having it, that Alistair was able to fill that void in my life. During the Blight - early on, to be specific - he was a grounding element and kept me from trying to run all the time. Now that I know what I ran from was a feeling inside me, I look back on my memories and realize Alistair was exceptional medication. I also believe the Maker intended for me to have pockets of awareness towards the end of the Blight where I realized I did not_ **need** _Alistair to survive. Perhaps they were meant to open opportunities for me to find help like the potions I’m taking now. But I kept missing each opportunity. So the Maker kept opening more opportunities for me to help myself._

_And this is something that strengthens my belief in the Maker having pre-plotted paths. After a few months of being Queen, I stopped voicing my concerns when pockets of awareness engulfed me. It was easier not to voice them, easier not to risk Alistair thinking my concerns meant I wanted to leave him. As time went on, I ignored the pockets of awareness and remained in Alistair’s secure bubble._

_Until the Maker decided I’d procrastinated long enough and put me face-to-face with Anders who concocted the help I needed. I now believe the Maker distanced me from Alistair to push this help on me. Getting a new womb, healing my scars... though they may have been included in this pre-mapped path, they were trivial things along the way. I needed help so I would not keep trying to flee the drowning sensation inside of me. The Maker has been trying to guide me to help all along, but only now it could happen. Only when Alistair hid a political unrest from me and left me with Grey Wardens could the Maker deliver me to Help. I understand now Alistair’s help changed from actual help to training me to be dependent; fear of losing the first thing he had to his name. It turned out to be far from the help I needed. I believe the Maker has tried to get me to step back out of Alistair’s reach to find this potion for years._

_And when I gave up, the Maker made Alistair hand me the one person who could help me. I don’t know if the Maker meant for me to love Anders. But it happened._

_I don’t look forward to the unending awkward rift of having two lovers who will always hear and know about each other. I have two very separate lives now. If the Maker wills it I stay with or leave Alistair, only time will tell. But regardless of my present feelings, Alistair helping me during the Blight bonded us forever. As I suspect Anders and I are bonded forever; even if he disappears tomorrow I will never not appreciate him. I don’t know how I’ll handle this situation I’m in, but I must._

_And on the topic of bonding, I expect more feelings to arise when I tell Alistair about the miscarriage. I already know he’ll think of Eleonora, our firstborn from the Fade. He’ll relate this first child to her, and it will hit him as if Eleonora died. Not a nameless, body-less six-week-old fetus. It’s half the reason I named it Adalyn. I hope it’s easier for Alistair to accept if he knows it’s not Eleonora that died._

_I know, yet I will never be prepared for the rush of emotion I know will ensue when I tell my husband. It already makes my eyes tear up. And if Alistair wants to try again when we’re in Denerim…_

_Anders; my Baldric; sleeps so still beside me now. If Alistair wants to try to make another baby, I’ll have to tell Anders I’ll be unavailable for the night._

_As much as I believe the Maker pre-planned every step of my life, I also think the Maker is terribly bored sometimes._

 

 

_Riding to Denerim with Sigrun is another new experience for me. Despite I’ve traveled this stretch of highway called the Pilgrim’s Path countless times, I never had her with me. Sigrun is fascinated by everything. She loves surface scents; a thing I did not appreciate until after nine months in the Deep Roads. A family of deer ventured near us one evening and Sigrun stood slack-jawed in childlike wonder. So pure was her awe none of us had heart to kill one; Nathaniel crept away to find rabbits in the opposite direction. The entire night sky is another source of awe. Sigrun is the epitome of enjoyment. She’s thrilled by everything like she’s seen nothing more beautiful. The birds and insects are music she now pities Orzammar for not having. Magic bewitches her and she keeps asking Anders to freeze or set aflame bushes. Rainfall excites her; when we stop to make camp under trees, she stands under it and splashes in puddles. If I didn’t know she was in the Legion of the Dead, I’d never guess. Sigrun is more like our happy little child._

_I also have never ridden to Denerim needing to tell someone I’ve miscarried. When the city comes into view, complete with the turrets of my palace, knots form in my gut. How do I tell Alistair my body didn’t like the baby I tried to grow? How do I tell my husband my new womb killed our baby?_

_Anders responds to my sudden anxiety before I need to ask him to. He reach for my hand - as a friend. When we stop for breaks, he doesn’t try to hug me or kiss me, he waits for me to move first. He asks if I need to talk, and offers be the one to tell Alistair of the miscarriage. Otherwise, he distances himself. As he intended. As I need him to right now. He doesn’t say if or how much distancing himself hurts him, though I suspect it does. Like when I distanced myself after I had the miscarriage._

_The closer we ride, the more I glance at Sigrun to distract myself, and the more I am reminded of my duty. Of what being a Grey Warden means. And though I wanted distraction, it reminds me of Alistair. I recall the top of Fort Drakon when I watched Fergus and the elite guard hold my husband back. I remember my thoughts then. Alistair was the first thing in my life that made my sacrifice - when I did not expect to survive - worth anything. My first experience and reason for sacrificing myself in the first place. I did not decide to fight instead of jump to spare my husband from death, but in a way, I fought for him. I decided to fight because I knew Alistair would continue on and make life better for people, so no one would grow up like me again. So in another twenty years, the young adults readying for marriage can look back on life and call it Good. It reminds me of my Joining, when I realized I’d survived. I had expected to die then, as well, but Alistair was there. Alistair held out his hand as I sat on the edge and he offered to make the rest of my life worth something. I did not understand the meaning of sacrifice then, nor do I think he meant to give my time as a Warden meaning. I believe Alistair also saw Joining the Wardens as another life, instead of prolonged death in service._

_Alistair was there from the beginning of my sacrifice. He was the reason I ever kept going when life tested us. I had my priorities a little wrong as a Grey Warden; him over the world. But my sacrifice was always there, and he at the root._

_I also understand, unlike the Legion of the Dead, joining the Wardens means legal recognition of life. In this aspect, it means every strike of my blade has different motivation than Sigrun’s. She is legally dead in Orzammar and cannot enjoy aspects of common life there, so there is nothing to lose by pitting herself in impossible odds. The one small difference in being Legally Dead and Legally Alive makes all the difference in the world. It means, unlike Sigrun, I cannot throw my into impossible odds because I must -_ **and can** _\- still fight tomorrow. The obligation to Fight Again Tomorrow emphasizes with great weight on Life. My own life. I may have a prolonged death sentence - and now, I am truly okay with that - but Prolonged means I have time to enjoy my last breaths._

_I am allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. I understand the cycle now: this is the World’s gift to Grey Wardens in return for our prolonged death. This is our compensation for sacrifice the rest of the world won’t make. It means I am free to wake up and try again at life every day. I am free to correct my mistakes; unlike the Legion whose atonement comes in death they must strive for._

_It means my prolonged death allows me to have children. Alistair has the same right; as does Anders, no matter what becomes of us. This compensation from the world has handed me time to figure out how carry children to term._

_It still hurts. Everything still hurts; feeling abandoned by Alistair, being lied to, the memories in Orzammar. The miscarriage still hurts my heart more than I ever imagined. But I don’t feel helpless about telling Alistair. I understand we have time to try again. I understand now why Anders told me the miscarriage did not mean I’m incapable of being a mother. It still hurts, but there is peace in understanding._

_It’s easier to accept death now._

 

 

_Entering Denerim in matching uniforms, and our giant Anderfels steeds, draws the attention I expected. Whether people recognize me as Queen Tesslyn, they stare and speak about Grey Wardens. Sigrun Oohs and Ahhs as she reads signs through the atrium district. Justice wonders why a need for a hunters lounge, a ladies hall, and a mens club exist. Sigrun asks if we’ll have time to visit the museum and chocolate shop before we leave. Justice wonders why people buy alcohol with peat when Blackmarsh overflows with it. When we reach the enormous statue of me in the center of the district, my party stops to stare. It reads "Grey Wardens," our dictum, and the names of Wardens who died during the Blight._

_Nathaniel stares up at the statue and says it is distasteful to give such attention to breasts. With a smirk, Anders agrees and says he can give the sculptor anatomically correct advice. With a giggle, Sigrun says she can sneak into town at night and paint it to look more realistic._

_Pádraig meets us as the gates of the palace district with a trail of servants. “Your Majesty,” he greets._

_“Is Alistair in?” I ask._

_“Aye. He just handed court over to Eamon.” But when I dismount, Pádraig’s eyes are not on me. He glares at Anders like he used to glare at Nathaniel. Whatever rumors Bann Franderel’s nosy house spread must have reached Denerim._

_“That’s enough, Pádraig,” I say. “I don’t care what you’ve heard. I’ll explain in detail later, but the Darkspawn breeding under Amaranthine are the problem. Not Anders.”_

_“What?” Pádraig turns to watch me as I start towards the palace._

_“I need to speak to Alistair first. In the meantime, prepare like you did when you found us in the Deep Roads.” I take off my riding gloves as my feet move. Pádraig utters in disbelief as I leave him at the gates._

_“I’m still slightly bitter he accused me so long of incest with you. Cousin, where are your private stores? May I poison him tonight?” Nathaniel says as palace guards open the doors._

_“Ooh, can I help?” Sigrun asks. “Poisoning people is fun. Wait, will this kill him?”_

_“No,” Nathaniel shakes his head. “I mean to make him run to the toilet all night.”_

_Sigrun grins. “Then yes!_ **Can** _I help? Even_ **more** _fun is seeing their faces when they realize they’ve been poisoned.”_

_“I couldn’t agree more. I’ll even let you choose the vial,” my cousin accepts. He nudges me. “I hope you decide not to trade this one away.”_

_I glare at him, but Pádraig speaks before I can. “Do you you two realize I’m right bloody here?” He groans a scoff. “I’m not eating tonight. Fucking rogues, I swear it. Ye ken?” He turns around to face Nathaniel and Sigrun. “Why don’t I invite Zevran to join you? He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this for months.”_

_“That is a kind offer, Pádraig.” Nathaniel keeps a straight face. “I suppose we could go easy on you. Is there a poison you prefer?” Sigrun snickers with him when Pádraig scoffs again._

_Another source of Taint approaches from beyond. Taint almost stronger than my Wardens hold._ **Alistair.** _I take a deep breath and wet my mouth before turning around. And I freeze. A face I almost forgot rests atop my husband’s shoulders._

_Alistair has shaved and cut his hair._

_My eyes water as the boy I met at Ostagar walks towards me. His scars are almost not visible without his beard to split. This same face from Ostagar flashes in my mind; grinning, blushing. The boy who took my hand and pulled me away from the edge. The boy who made me see life didn’t always have to hurt._

_Remembering how he helped me at Ostagar doesn’t come close to seeing that_ **exact** _face. I did not think it would overwhelm me to see him like this again._

_My feet move toward him without trying. Alistair’s eyes follow me as we step up to each other._

_He looks miserable. Like he’s lost the will to smile. Run out of tears._

_Another thing I must stand accountable for in front of him. I have to blink to keep my own back._

_“You cut your hair.” I’m trying to distract myself. I don’t want to cry already; I know I’m about to anyway. I reach up. He hasn’t combed the front up like he used to, but it’s nice. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him like this._

_Alistair shrugs. “I needed a change.” Even his voice sounds exhausted._

_“Do you like it like this?” I never thought to ask him. He’s always kept his hair long and his beard full because_ **I** _like it. But I never asked if_ **he** _wanted to grow his hair out._

_He shrugs again. “It’s easier to comb every day. I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror a few times, though.” Despite the dark reason I need to speak to him, a smile comes out. Alistair’s own smile is sorrowful and short. His eyes travel beyond me. “The Legion is here?”_

_“No, erm…” I glance back. “Sigrun?” I make a quick introduction. The kind of introduction I should have made for Anders, Nathaniel, and Justice._

_Alistair puts on his formal smile for Sigrun. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We have great respect for the Legion. They helped us fight the Archdemon.”_

_“Oh, I joined after that. Actually, I hid with other casteless children when you two went after the Carta.” Sigrun hadn’t told me this. If seeing the boy I fell in love with didn’t overwhelm me, I might laugh. “But I heard about your adventures in the Deep Roads and with the Archdemon. Lieutenant Kardol told me a few stories.”_

_“I can imagine. How is he?”_

_“That’s one of the things I need to speak to you about,” I tell my husband. “But that can wait. I need to… speak to you alone first.”_

_Alistair nods. His eyes move beyond me again. And linger with a slight clench of his brow. I don’t need to turn to know he’s staring at Anders._

_“They can stay at my family’s home if you’d like,” I mutter to my husband._

_“No, it’s fine. Pádraig, show them to the east wing. Make sure the kitchen knows we’ve guests.”_

_“At once, Your Majesty. Lads, and Lady Sigrun, to your left. You still remember your way around, Oghren? And no, I don’t mean the cellars.”_

_There are no words until my Wardens disappear from sight down the corridor. Alistair watches me a moment longer before speaking._

_“Where do you want to talk?” he asks. “There’s drink in the study.”_

_I shake my head. “Can we sit in my garden? Please? I need… I need air for this…” My chest feels sizes too small. I haven’t even told him yet and my eyes already flood._

 

 

 

The palace library was extensive. The Circle tower had over a million books, but the palace rivaled that. Not near as many books on magic, but other subjects compensated for the Circle’s book count. Governing, geography, art, history, various research material in book and preserved note form. Books for entertainment as well, from children's stories to exotic romance. Tall windows at the right places lit up the entire library with ease. Large stocked desks, plush sofas, and a grand fireplace made it more a lounge than a place to study. Anders felt he could live in this room and be forever content. And the windows even came with a lovely view of the palace flower gardens.

…Where Tess and King Alistair sat.

Now that he saw her gardens, Anders was unsure why she picked such a place to tell Alistair of the miscarriage. Tess’ garden was anything but private. Though hidden from the public, it sat in the middle of the palace, a secret courtyard not seen from outside. Windows all along the the palace looked down upon the garden. Anyone could look out right then and see the King and Queen sitting concerned. If Anders had been the one to tell, he would have chosen a private room where no one could peek in.

Though at Vigil’s Keep, Tess’ Safe Space was out past the produce garden, where nature made a niche of blooms and lush ground cover. Tess’ flower garden here resembled her Safe Space the closest. Her favorite trees, her favorite colors, rich ground cover. A pond dotted with lily pads hosted a corner fountain that Anders guessed sounded like the stream in her Safe Space. Both benches sat in speckled shadows, while a tea table sat empty by the fountain under the sun. Tess and Alistair sat on one of the benches, half covered by shade.

Anders knew he shouldn’t spy on them. But he was curious; he wanted to see _just_ how Alistair felt about Tess. He knew Tess still loved her husband deep down, and at the Keep, Alistair seemed to adore her and was eager to be a father. But Anders had to _know,_ even if he tempted heartbreak by watching them. Anders did not know if he’d always be around to help Tess. If anything happened to him, he knew Tess would end up back here at the palace with her husband. Anders wanted to know if the man he had to share Tess with truly loved her. He _shouldn’t_ spy upon them now, but he did.

Part of Anders ached knowing he could not sit with Tess in her garden. Even if he could, he would never be able to hold her in it. At the Keep he was respected and could do as he wished. But here at the royal palace, Anders was _Paramour._ He could never even hold her hand here.

The other window provided a better view. Tess scrunched in tears while her mouth moved. Alistair looked like an unseen reel tried to pull him away from himself. The moment Anders spied on lasted forever: the King’s face screwed up in a series of twitches until he gave in to a full sob. Alistair kept watching Tess like he prayed the news would change. Before long, the giant of a King crumbled and wept hard into his hands. Alistair’s sobs quaked his whole body. He kept shaking his head.

It was hard not to sympathize. Anders hadn’t, in essence, tried to _make_ a family. If Tess carried _his_ child, Anders would love it and be the best father he could. He’d already found family in Tess, and Nathaniel, but he had not had sex _to_ sire children. A child would be the ultimate seal on any urge to run again. King Alistair, on the other hand, took news of Tess’ miscarriage as if the child already lived. As if it had breathed, laughed, ran with open arms to its parents. As if Alistair had spent years as a father.

Anders watched Tess reach over. Alistair looked at her, a sopping mess wetter than the fountain, and crashed into her like a wave. Her husband clung and cried, mouth stuck open in heartache Anders could not hear. He watched, and a heavy anchor settled in his gut. Anders already assumed Tess would keep him on the side; if not leave him altogether once she had Alistair’s babies. _But now he knew._ It was clear Alistair loved his wife, and loved the children they did not yet have. Alistair was not a King trying to make an heir. At that moment, Alistair looked like the kind of father Anders had hoped his own had been. The kind of father who mourned his child’s absence, not celebrated it. Tess’ motive for begging the Architect to fix her womb now made sense. Anders did not need to ask to know Alistair and Tess tried to become parents together before. Tried to _grow a family_ before.

It hurt. Anders knew what would happen. He knew he’d have to share Tess if he continued to want her. But he only now understood what it meant. He _felt_ what it meant. Since he didn’t know how to stop caring about Tess, he would deal with being the Queen’s _Paramour._ Anders would live knowing the woman he loved also loved another man, and sometimes she would make babies with the King, if not try. _If_ Tess decided to stay romantic with Anders; and there was always a chance she would not.

Had Anders not pondered the miscarried child being his, he might not sympathize for the King. Knowing what he knew now only made his heart ache more.

 

 

The day wore on with an awkward weight, even when Anders left the palace. He’d been to Denerim before, but never as a free man; always as an apostate avoiding Templars. He tried to enjoy the city now with the other Wardens. Sigrun and Justice directed while Oghren led the way. Benneit from Tess’ elite guard showed the Wardens to the chocolate shop, where his wife made exquisite sweets.

Benneit’s wife was pregnant. Stubborn and refusing to lie in because she felt restless, but quite pregnant. Anders recalled Tess saying Benneit’s wife used to eat dinner at the palace once a week; company for the Queen. He did not think Tess would be so inclined to see another woman so pregnant, now.

Leaving the chocolate shop made Anders halt to let another pregnant woman pass by. A few buildings down, there was another. And another visiting the museum. Detouring to the Market District to show Sigrun _Wonders of Thedas_ revealed more pregnant women. Commoners; women who needed to work for a living. _And another fucking pregnant woman in the tavern!_

Anders couldn’t get away from them. Pregnant women _littered_ Denerim. Most not half through second trimester, but pregnant indeed, not just plump. The doctor in him saw the tilt of the hips from the tilt of the lower belly. Pregnant women, plain and simple, were aligned and walked different than those not.

The man who told Tess his real name wanted to see what _she_ would look like pregnant. He wanted to see her swell and waddle as a woman ready to have _his_ son. Wanted to deliver his own son.

Anders wondered if Tess saw as many pregnant women as he did. He tried but couldn’t imagine just how Tess felt thinking she may never swell like Benneit’s wife.

 

Come nightfall, the palace was as awkward as when Anders first stepped in. Tess found him and Nathaniel and said she wouldn’t be joining them for supper. Red-eyed and tear-stained, Tess wanted to sleep. She and Alistair weren’t fit for company after their talk, and Alistair wanted her near all night. She took a sleeping potion with her antidepressant and said to wake her if they needed anything. Tess lingered in Anders’ arms and apologized before she left for the night.

No amount of drink changed the atmosphere. It wasn’t hard to play Friend or even Tess’ Warden associate; it was what he’d been before they grew close. What _was_ hard was forgetting all the pregnant bellies in town. He could not forget the anguish on King Alistair’s face in the garden. For the life of him that night, Anders could not forget every moment he’d spent alone with Tess and all they’d shared in private.

 _Paramour._ And still Anders chose to be so. Because he didn’t want to forget the woman who saved him.

It might have been easier to skip the palace altogether. But like all other things with Tess, it was too late to start over.

 

 

He couldn’t sleep. The forsaken Taint didn’t keep alcohol in his blood long enough, nor absorbed enough at once. Anders tossed and turned in bed listening to Oghren’s snores through the wall. Nathaniel was hard asleep in another room, laying at an awkward angle with his mouth hitched open like always. Sigrun’s room was silent through the door, so Anders let her be. Justice was somewhere outside in the dark. Not-so-little Ser Pounce-a-Lot would lay asleep on Anders’ bed for at least another hour. It seemed Anders was on his own for the night.

Unable to sleep and alone. Not much different than living in the Circle tower.

At least here, no one seemed to mind if he wandered. Despite King Alistair’s obvious disapproval, the man gave Anders freedom as a Grey Warden. Anders was grateful; and surprised. The palace halls were quiet and dim, save for a few guards and night staff keeping choice fires lit. He tried to find the library on his own, but after getting lost twice even with directions, Anders gave up and climbed the nearest staircase. He climbed and climbed, startled a maid when he came upon the top step with fire in his hand, where he apologized till he stumbled over his own tongue. Then found himself alone again. Lack of more stairs told Anders he’d reached the topmost floor of the palace.

A tea room; _who climbed three flights of stairs for tea?_ A storage room for fabric. One room held empty canvases stacked around easels and various art supplies; from dust on the covering tarps, it was untouched. The last room was large and, aside from the furniture, looked empty. A tea table, a fainting couch, a couple chairs, a small shelf of books, a basket of yarn and unused stitching crafts. Everything huddled close to the tall windows that spanned the length of the room. As if there weren’t enough chairs, the section of window that extended in an overhang had its own seat built in; another something that looked ignored. After staring out the window a moment, Anders realized he was looking at the atrium district. Small moving lights in the distance revealed the statue of Tess.

 _This was Tess’ sitting room._ She’d told him about this window, how it overlooked the town gates; how it bored her. Anders looked around with his hand aglow trying to guess which chair she said she liked best. None were colors Tess gravitated toward. She also wasn’t fond of throw pillows, yet each chair held at least two. She didn’t like to knit, yet the basket sat in the room; perhaps she stopped trying to remove it after it kept returning. Aside from the books, Anders couldn’t see a single touch of Tess in her own solar.

 _How drab and unwelcoming. This_ was where Tess had to escape to? Anders felt for her all over again. No wonder she thrived at Vigil’s Keep.

Anders walked around until he found a candle stick. _One_ candelabrum. Not a place Tess was allowed to visit at night, it seemed. This palace was beyond huge, at least three times larger than Vigil’s Keep. How could Tess not be allowed to add her own touch to it? To her own sitting room? Anders knew he hadn’t discovered every room, but so far, he saw nothing Tess liked. She’d said she liked Alistair’s study, but that was not hers; that was where _Alistair_ went for solitude. Tess couldn’t spend every day in the library either; even books got boring after awhile.

Setting the candelabrum in the center of the room illuminated better than expected. Perhaps Tess _did_ spend time up here at night? With this greater source of light, Anders noticed something he had not seen with only the small fire in his hand. Along the window away from the sitting area were pictures propped against the glass. Sketches on parchment preserved by…. magic; an unusual choice for royal portraits.

…Not just _any_ portraits, though. Anders picked up one with a pregnant woman.

 _Tess._ Pregnant Tess. Tess so pregnant she could have been about to give birth.

Anders stared at the shimmering sketch in his hands. _Was there more to Tess begging the Architect for a new womb?_ No, wait… this portrait of Tess had no scars. It couldn’t be anytime recent, Tess became barren over a decade ago. Yet it was an adult face, not Tess as a child or young teenager; it also could not be an old portrait. Anders set down the image of pregnant Tess and stood back to look at the collection as a whole.

Family portraits. Alistair was present in two portraits, donning the beard Anders first met him in. One was Alistair, Tess, and two children. The other, the children aged a little and a chubby baby sat on Tess’ lap. Everyone was happy; the kind of happiness that seemed surreal. Other portraits were of children, mostly the baby and the child with long frizzy hair.

...Anders felt like he’d walked into a shrine. A shrine of _what-could-not-be._

It hit him like a glove to the face, and Anders stared harder. This was _Alistair’s_ shrine. The family _Alistair_ wanted. Tess had said something about _That Dream_ the day Alistair found them in Wending Wood. Anders picked up the picture of pregnant Tess again. Scar-less, pregnant, happier than she looked on any given day in real life. Had Tess wanted the new womb for _this?_ Was this also Tess’ dream? Or did this always exist for her to compare herself to? Did this shrine and dream of _Alistair’s_ loom over Tess every day of her marriage? A never-ending reminder she would never be as beautiful or pregnant like her husband wanted her to be?

While meeting the Architect changed her fate of scars and motherhood, such fate _had_ been set in stone. Before Alistair abandoned her at Vigil’s Keep and Tess ran to avoid seeing her husband again, being scar-less and pregnant was impossible for her.

What a _sickening_ thing to do to someone. How fucking _selfish_ for Alistair to display reminders Tess was always _flawless_ in his dreams. Reminders she could not compare to in real life. _Especially_ when her scars and charred womb were caused by forces _out_ of Tess’ control. Beholding this shrine, Anders lost _immense_ respect for the King who once braved the Deep Roads and helped kill the Archdemon. He lost respect for the man who claimed he became King to give Tess a life _she deserved._

And the pictures of children… The speckled one could be young Tess out in the rain and mud. It was one thing to want children with a woman he loved; Anders wanted a family with Tess, too. But to dream up and _display_ children that looked like a woman _Alistair knew_ could not give birth was cruel. It plain _did not matter_ Tess was _now_ able to resemble Alistair’s perfect dream wife. Alistair had already displayed it all - _in Tess’ sitting room,_ of all fucking places.

A low hum roused his veins. It took a moment to remember he was in a palace, and Wardens stirred the hum of his own Taint almost like Darkspawn.

Anders looked over as Taint closed in. With so many Wardens in this place, it seemed too much to hope it could be Tess. The door knob creaked and turned. A hand too large to be feminine pushed the door open in caution. Before Anders could speak, the candelabrum illuminated a large body.

 _Alistair._ The _last_ person he wanted to find himself alone with in a dark room in a palace he couldn’t navigate. “Anders,” the King greeted. He wasn’t surprised or relieved, yet his voice also hinted at both.

“No, hold the the door. I’d rather not be alone with you.” Anders set the picture down.

“Stay, please. I don’t wish the rest of my palace hear what I need to ask you. There are always servants somewhere. They excel at being invisible half the time.” Alistair said. Anders stared as Alistair closed the door. The large King sounded civil enough… for catching Anders at his shrine. Alistair nodded to the pictures as he walked over. “You found my children. Eleonora, Carlyn, Griffon. I’m not much of an artist, but I did my best.” He took a moment to stare at the pictures. This close, he looked past the point of emotional flooding. Tears had vanished, but under his eyes were swollen, along with an obvious path where they ran. Alistair may have come up here for the shrine, and Anders was already here when Alistair happened to have questions. “No one sees these besides me these days. Tess used to look at them with me, but not for years, now. I only set them up in here when she sent word you all visited Orzammar.”

Anders hesitated. Setting them up only when Tess was away didn’t seem so bad. Something to look forward to, or maybe to remind Alistair Tess was worth striving for. Maybe Anders assumed too much too soon. “Where they are? Did they die? Or is it like… with Morrigan?” He was sure he already knew the answer, though.

Alistair shook his head. The topic of Morrigan didn’t seem to bother him like it did Tess. “They only exist in the Fade. _Tess_ dreamed them up. During the Blight. We were at Kinloch, in fact; a demon put us to sleep. I continue to dream of our children, but Tess only had the one dream… which I was part of. I’m not sure how it worked, but it impacted me more than I could have imagined. After the Deep Roads, I stopped telling her when I dreamed of them. It upset her.” Alistair shook head again. “We can’t make them in real life, but in the Fade, we have thriving children. I’ve seen her pregnant twice in the Fade, and there, I have memories of her pregnant with our daughters.” Alistair paused, running his finger over the drawing of pregnant Tess. “It’s a part of life I never knew I needed till Tess made me part of it.” He stared. “In the Fade, nothing goes wrong for us. I am a wonderful husband who built the perfect home for my perfect family with my bare hands, and Tess can’t get pregnant fast enough. There, I tuck our daughters in bed each night, and come back down stairs to make perfect love to my wife, or I find she has fallen asleep nursing our son.” Alistair glanced from the corner of his eye, then set the picture back with the rest. “Morrigan set those. It’s how I know she’s still alive. I think she did it for Tess. Our children call her _Aunt_ in the Fade, even now.” With a Deep Breath, Alistair faced Anders. “What happened Highever?”

“Did Tess not tell you?”

“She says they fought, her and Fergus. But I am not a medic. An argument sounds… _mild_ to me.”

Anders raises his shoulders. “When it comes to pregnancy, stress is stress. It doesn’t have to be physical.”

“Did they physically fight?”

“The doors were closed. But I don’t think so. I only heard yelling. Tess seems the type to hit her brother _back_ if he struck her.”

Alistair agreed with a nod. “She would have given him a black eye, at least.” He searched Anders. “So you’re saying an _argument_ causes miscarriage?”

“It can. Many things cause it. Physical strain, emotional strain, mental strain. Toothaches. A twisted ankle; rather, the jolt from twisting an ankle. Food allergies can appear, and if the wrong food is eaten, it happens. Too much alcohol. Too many sweets. Not enough water. Sleeping on her belly could do it, though that usually comes later. The list is extensive.”

“So… they’re common?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Is there a way to prevent them?”

Anders breathed aloud. “Aside from not trying to conceive, no.”

“With this expedition we intend to take…”

Anders stared back. If Alistair knew Tess may already be pregnant again, he took it well. “What I’ve learned of the Deep Roads, it’s far from ideal for pregnancy. Especially where we’re headed.” Anders hoped for the best, but he was already prepared for the worst in Kal’Hirol. He was confident _hope_ was not enough.

Alistair shook his head. “No. I don’t think I’d even risk Orzammar. Underground doesn’t do _any_ human any good.” He searched Anders like he sought more answers than questions he’d aired. “And this _potion_ you made my wife…”

“Euphembric. It’s battles depression and dulls anxiety.”

“Does it affect pregnancy?”

Anders shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen. Although,” he glanced away. “I mostly prescribe it within the Circle. They don’t exactly encourage pregnancy there.”

“It’s for _mages,_ then?” It sounded like a statement.

“Not at all.” Anders shook his head again, forcing his gaze back to the hulking king before him. “I suspect it’s more _common_ in the Circle. At least, more commonly talked about. Depression isn’t a very _noble_ trait, is it? Potions like that are used more openly in Tevinter and with the Qunari, but they’re for everyone.”

“And _you_ want her to take it.” Alistair eyed him like Anders hid secret motives.

“I asked her to _try_ it. She didn’t speak for over a week and didn’t get out of bed for five days. _She_ asked me to make more. She said she feels better since she’s started taking it.” It wasn’t easy pretending this man didn’t intimidate him. While Alistair was only half a head taller, he was at least twice as wide. And the shrine still disturbed him, no matter the reason for it. “I’m _not drugging_ her, Alistair. It doesn’t matter what you think of me or who you are to her, she’s _important_ to me. I would _never_ hurt her.”

Disgust and contempt Alistair held in the entire time came out on his face as he turned. Anders saw it as thick as the aire around him changed. Before reaching the door, Alistair turned back around. _“Why_ are you trying to have a relationship with a married woman? When you _know_ her husband loves her?”

“I _never planned_ it. I didn’t sit in solitary confinement and _plan_ to go after the Queen of Ferelden. It _happened._ I _care_ about her.”

“You _care_ about her?” Alistair echoed, face full of _despite_ and disrust.

“This is _new_ for me, all right? _Yes_ I _care_ about her, _more_ than I am capable of saying. The Circle doesn’t teach mages _relationship_ skills. I’m learning as I go along.”

“You’re learning as you go along _with a married woman._ I gave her my heart over four years ago. Almost four years to the _date,_ I _married_ her. I _committed_ myself to Tess till the day I _die._ _Years,_ mage, not a _few_ months. The only reason _she_ killed the Archdemon was because her brother and a dozen men held me back from running to save her. I was _prepared_ to _die_ for my wife. Are _you_ willing to do the _same?”_ Alistair demanded.

Anders paused. “Haven’t I already proved that? You could have killed us _both_ in the courtyard.” He didn’t want to tempt actual death. Anders wanted _life._ It was all he _ever_ wanted.

Alistair huffed and looked away, eyes glossing in the candle light. “I _just_ want my _wife_ back, mage.” He turned back to the door.

Anders watched him. “Am I being _ordered_ to avoid my Commander now?”

“No.” Alistair glanced back as he opened the door. “It’s _convenient_ I can’t order you to do a damn thing, _Warden_ Anders. Man to man, if you _really_ understand what it is to love someone, I am _asking_ you to give me my wife back.”

Anders stared at the closed door as the footsteps beyond faded. “What about what _I_ want?” he asked the empty room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	27. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess and Alistair try to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Drops of Jupiter, by Train](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Xf-Lesrkuc)

_Alistair woke from a nightmare._

_As good a dream as he ever had - at first: a wonderful day in our home in the Fade, playing with our two daughters and our son, and I was expecting again. Then in the middle of happy child laughter, I screamed. Alistair recalls looking over to see a gushing waterfall of blood from between my legs. He ran to me, but as he grabbed my hand, something pulled me away. Like someone had lassoed me, he said. He started after me only for our children to shriek. When he turned back, Eleonora and Carlyn melted before his eyes into a pile of bones, blood, and a mire of old rotting flesh like the broodmother’s lair. He looked back again to find Vigil’s Keep garden swallow me up like starving, angry thorns. Baby Griff behind him wailed, but when Alistair turn again to save the last of his family, it wasn’t Griff. It was Griff’s chubby little baby body, but it was Anders’ face. Baby Anders reached for him chanting “Da, Da, Da!” And when Alistair wouldn’t - couldn’t - pick him up, baby Anders crawled after him. “Da! Da! Da!” There was nowhere Alistair could run. Baby Anders was everywhere Alistair turned around, until Alistair tracked so much blood the floor itself became blood. Alistair sunk into the bog of Eleonora and Carlyn’s blood and bones and could not climb out. The last thing he saw before he woke up was Baby Anders crawling across the mire surface, still crying for his “Da,” mouth open wide for a big baby kiss._

_A nightmare so macabre not even my worst compare to. I can’t console my husband. It terrified him so deep he can’t stop shaking. He doesn’t want to leave the bed, doesn’t want me to leave. This massive man curls up in my arms like nothing more than a bundle of rags. Today is one of the few times my arms fit all the way around my husband. It’s all I can do._

_I don’t need to be a Rivaini seer to interpret his dream: Alistair is frightened the expedition underground will claim us, he is terrified I’ll miscarry the daughters we’ve dreamed of, and he fears one of our future children will turn out to be Anders’._

_Alistair begs me not to leave him again._

 

 

_It is hours into daylight before Alistair feels like leaving the bed. While Alistair waits for the bath to fill, I slip out to the east wing, dragging Pádraig with me on the way. In private, I relay Alistair’s nightmare to Anders, then suggest everyone stay at my family’s home._

_Anders is horrified someone had such a dream about_ **him.** _He wants to apologize, but he and I know nothing he can say to Alistair now will take the fear away. Anders feels it would have been best for him to never enter at all. We have no control over whatever rumors spread from Bann Franderel’s house, but it’s clear it’s salted Alistair’s fear of losing me._

_Anders and I didn’t know how deep we were sinking when Nathaniel warned us of discretion._

_I only tell the others Alistair needs them to stay at my family’s home. But separating the Wardens poses a problem: we must still discuss the expedition. As he often does, Pádraig reads my mind: he’ll take Zevran and the elite guard to Cousland castle with the Wardens and devise a plan there. I’ll tell Alistair what I know, and Pádraig will run back and forth to keep everyone up to date._

_As I expected, hearing about Kal’Kirol unsettles Alistair worse than before. However, after hearing all I remember from the Keep discussions, Alistair surprises me. As much as he doesn’t want to see or hear Anders for the rest of his life, one good thing has come from my… change of heart. Alistair knows he won’t be the only one fighting for me down there. My husband takes my hand, hesitates to look in my eyes, then says he needs to meet with Anders. Alistair needs to ensure he and Anders will get me out of Kal’Hirol alive._

_Me. Even if it kills them._

_Maker please, don’t let it come to that._

_When Pádraig checks in us, he’s as surprised as me to learn Alistair wants to meet with Anders. To make things less awkward, I suggest a group meeting; Pádraig suggests over supper tomorrow._

_In the meantime, Alistair wants to talk. With me. About us, our marriage._

_We sit the bedroom this time. The King’s quarters; though until he returned without me, it was_ **our** _quarters. With the miscarriage and the danger of Kal’Hirol ahead, it’s not long before Alistair’s crying again._

_My husband misses me. He misses me here for him to cling to when he wakes from nightmares. He misses falling asleep to my scent in the room and my head on his shoulder. Alistair’s lip quivers with his arms when he says he loves me so much it hurts. He wakes up and sees me absent from the bed and it feels like old wood grinding in his heart. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and rolls over, but I’m not there. Sleeping potions keep getting stronger and stronger, and he needs more each night._

_Alistair wants me to stay. Face streaming, he begs me to stay. We have more than enough people to clear Kal’Hirol without us. My husband begs me to stay and hear me say I_ **more than love** _him again._

_“I don’t know what to do without you, Tess.”_

_This is so much harder than I imagined. I thought we would talk, reach an understanding that maybe it’s time we take a break until we know exactly what role we truly wish to play in each other’s lives. But it branches out farther and roots deeper than I expected. A pain I wish potions would stop._

_“I don’t know if I’m ready to stay,” my voice sounds weak and wet. It is the last thing Alistair wants to hear. Another bout of tears spills from his eyes. I try to explain the kindest way I know, but tone and choice words do not make him feel better._

_It’s not a conversation that produces tears of exhilaration._

_He does not want to hear what I tell him: Alistair’s the same as he’s always been with me. As long as I’ve kept my mouth shut and pretended nothing bothered me, it was fine. Sometimes I even convinced myself I was happy and Alistair was perfect for me. But things changed when he decided to hide the secret conference from me. The events that led to new womb - and Anders growing on me - resurface. It still hurts to know Alistair not only lied about where he went, but he planned it._ **He planned** _to lie and sneak off places. But now_ **he’s** _upset I won’t come back. He ignored me, abandoned me, and people who were still strangers who had no business making me feel better jumped in and did it anyway. I found acceptance in new Wardens who were only trying to make the best of a new life they had no choice in. Like I had no choice in._

 _“For the first time since I met you,” I can’t look at him and keep my voice brave right now, “I’m not monitored when I use the toilet or when I need a snack. It’s been like that since I woke up from my Joining, Alistair. But not at Vigil’s Keep. Everyone there trusts me to do what I want and still return each night. They don’t keep secrets from me there. They trust me to handle information_ **and** _to wander off by myself. The two go hand-in-hand there_ **beautifully.** _It’s something I stopped trying to tell you years ago because you don’t believe it.”_

_When the room is silent, I dare myself to look at my husband._

_Alistair stares like I don’t understand: “How can I keep you safe if I don’t know where you are? If I don’t know where you go, I can’t find you when you need help.”_

_“Alistair, I don’t need help walking to the toilet, or walking away from it. I don’t need help understanding political information. I don’t need help sitting with a book in my own garden. There have been_ **no threats** _at the palace. How don’t you see that? We’ve_ **never** _been threatened here. You don’t need to guard me like I might be killed when we’re perfectly safe. Every day we wake up, and the palace remains as safe as it was yesterday, even when I’m at Vigil’s Keep and you’re away. The last threat to come through here was the Archdemon and_ **I killed** _that._ **Wouldn’t** _I be able to handle a_ **book** _in my_ **garden?** _Or news Celene is visiting to try to quell a potential uprising?” I just want to him to understand what it’s like to be caged. Anders understands it._ **Alistair** _was_ **also** _pushed around his whole life and made to be places he never wanted. Couldn’t my husband_ **try** _to understand? For_ **my** _sake?_

_“What’s the point in being King if I can’t protect you Tess?”_

_“Protect me from_ **what,** _Alistair?_ **What** _is there to protect me from here? Or is there something_ **else** _you don’t want me to know about?”_

_Alistair doesn’t look at me. “What if something happens? What if you never come back, Tess?”_

_“My_ **garden,** _Alistair!” I plead. “My_ **fucking garden.** _You can_ **see** _it from your_ **study.** _You can see it from the library, the evening tea room, the bath halls, even the servants quarters. Until you left me at Vigil’s Keep, I’ve never even asked to leave the palace. I’m_ **not asking** _to sail alone or hike the Frozen South. I want to be able to sit in my_ **tiny flower garden** _and_ **read by myself** _sometimes._ **Sometimes!** _Not even every day. I just want to be able to sit there without it being on my allowed schedule of the day. How can I never come back from my_ **garden?** _How can I never come back if I_ **never leave?** _How can I leave you if I’m still in our house?”_

 _“You already left me, Tess. With_ **him.”**

 **“You** _left_ **me!** _How don’t you understand that?_ **You** _left_ **me** _there when_ **I** _didn’t want it and_ **you knew** _I didn’t want it, and_ **you chose** _to ignore me and_ **not return. You** _lied,_ **you** _left._ **You!** _Everything else came_ **after** _you finally showed up again. That was_ **not** _me._ **I** _stayed where_ **I** _was_ **told.** _Where_ **you** _told me to stay._ **You put** _me in a position to_ **move without** _you. That was_ **you,** _Alistair. That was your_ **choice.** **I** _didn’t_ **want** _you to leave._ _You can’t keep using that excuse to_ **keep** _me from things in_ **my best interest,** _Alistair._ **Who** _in their_ **right mind** _would_ **live** _with someone who does this to them?” When Alistair finally looks at me, I remember myself the last time he looked at me like this. That next day, I had to force myself to accept the life I made for myself. I forced myself to accept the life Alistair wanted for me. For awhile, for a few months at a time, I could ignore the knots in my gut and be happy with his ways. But it did not last. I kept remembering I didn't need him. Unlike the broken, addicted girl who thought she would die without him. A sour, heavy thought sticks in my throat. “But I_ **wasn’t** _in my right mind. Was I?” I ask._

 _“I was a little girl who believed the prince when he said I was_ **broken** _and I_ **needed** _him to take care of me or else I would die.” It’s a bittersweet memory. I remember believing it. I remember thinking I would freeze overnight if Alistair didn’t build my tent. I remember thinking I would starve if he wasn’t there to cook for me. “But I_ **don’t** _need that. I know that now, Alistair. I’ve known that before you became King, even. Remember? You_ **begged** _me to stay, just like now. You_ **promised** _you’d try to be different.”_

_“Tess, I can’t change anymore.” His face pleads with me when his voice breaks. “I don’t know who I was when I met you. I don’t remember that boy. I don’t remember how I was when we met the Dalish. I only remember the King I’ve become. The King you wanted me to become. I can’t--” The tears build up so thick his pupils refract in the sunshine peeking in. “There’s nothing left of me but the King of Ferelden. I can’t change anymore.”_

_“I don’t need you to change your entire outlook, Alistair. I’m not asking you to become a new person. I need you to change how you_ **treat** _me. Those things are not the the same, they’re not_ **related.** _Is it really too hard to tell me there’s a political squabble you don’t want me to see? Is it really too hard to let me make take an hour or two do whatever_ **I** _feel like each day? When I have bad days, I’ve_ **always** _come to you when I need your help. But I don’t always need minute care like that. And now with these potions, I may never need it again. I’m not asking you to change who you are, Alistair, I’m asking you to_ **stop hiding** _things and_ **stop restricting** _me in my best interest. Because it’s_ **not** _in my best interest. It_ **hurts** _me inside, and until now - until I’ve had Vigil’s Keep to live at - I couldn’t bring it up. Because where would I go if you blew up again when I asked you?_ **I’m** _not allowed to keep secrets from_ **you,** _because only the_ **King** _knows what’s in_ **his** _best interest. I can’t question your trips to the_ **tavern** _for a careless night with the boys._ **This is all I’m asking you to do, Alistair: Please,** _just treat me like you expect_ **me** _to treat_ **you.** _I can’t come back until I see it happening. I can’t. I_ **can't live** _like that anymore. Not when I don’t_ **need** _to live like that at the Keep.”_

_Alistair doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak. His eyes move like he’s thinking. But nothing comes out._

_“It hurts_ **now,”** _I tell him. I_ **need** _him to_ **acknowledge** _that. I need him to acknowledge doing things in my best interest hurts me._

_“What about your scars?” he asks. Alistair’s changing the subject because he doesn’t have answers._

_It makes the moment hurt more. It feels like he’s saying it_ **is** _too hard for him to not lie to me in my best interest._

_When lying is a personal choice that takes prior meditation._

**“What about** _my scars?” I ask back. I don’t want to be here anymore. The conversation didn’t sway like he wanted, so now he’s avoiding my concern. Again. Like every other time I’ve tried to express my concerns._

 _The reason I_ **stopped** _trying to express my concerns._

_I didn’t have to tell him about the miscarriage; and it’s possible Fergus won’t ever tell him. But I chose to tell Alistair, because he tried to make our daughters and thought he would hold real-life baby Eleonora next spring. I didn’t want to talk about it again, but I did anyway._

_Why can’t my husband - who’s begging me to live with him again - do the same for me? Why can’t Alistair discuss and try to fix things_ **he** _doesn’t want to talk about?_

_It feels like it only proves my point. He expects me to treat him a certain way, but he doesn’t want to do the same for me._

_He doesn’t want to admit living with him hurts me. He’s trying to turn the conversation around and blame_ **me** _again._

 _It makes me think of Anders, who wants nothing more for me than what makes_ **me** _happy. Anders doesn’t expect me to be happy with what makes_ **him** _happy. Po and Ser Pounce-a-Lot are great examples. Anders loves cats and I have my hound, but he doesn’t try to make me love Ser Pounce-a-Lot more than Po. Anders only worries if I’m not somewhere_ **I’ve** _said I’ll be. In the time he’s grown on me, me not being where I’ve planned means I’m having a hard time. He tells me bad news anyway, and if I struggle with it, he helps me work past it. No lies, no hiding, no pushing, no restricting, no over-coddling. And_ **that’s all** _with Anders._

 _“You washed yours away,” Alistair says. My blasted, forsaken, horrific scars. I don’t even want to_ **talk** _about them, regardless of not having them anymore. “You washed away every trace we survived golems and broodmothers and ancient traps… but I’ve still got every one of mine.” Alistair’s eyes and head keep moving like he wants to look at me yet he’s afraid. “It’s almost like… you erased yourself from that part of my life.” At last his head turns. My husband had to dare himself to look at me._

_Only now does he understand how these discussions distress me._

_That’s exactly how it’s felt for me. Every time I bring up my concerns and he ignores me, and I try to pretend again, it feels like Alistair has erased that part of himself from our life together. He’s made it so_ **he** _is not the person that’s kept hurting me._

_It would have been so much easier for him to admit his mistakes when I first brought up how much it hurt, before he became King. Then we wouldn’t be here right now, with him begging me to come home and me begging him to not do things in my best interest._

_But then… he’s not saying this about_ **my** _concerns. He brought up my scars. He’s using my scars vanishing as the culprit of his own actions._

 _Making it_ **my** _fault again._

 _Maker, Andraste,_ **please.** _Please just let him understand what I mean! Please? I don’t want repeat this conversation the rest of my life._

 _“I can't get rid of_ **my** _scars. My leg, remember? Half my thigh is scar tissue.” He pauses, then reaches up with one finger. Alistair traces where the huge scar on my cheek used to be._ **“Why** _did you want to forget, Tess? Why don’t you want to remember what we’ve been through together? How many lovers survive what_ **we** _have, Tess?”_

_“I never used to be scarred, Alistair. Not like what the Blight did to me,” I remind him. I wasn’t littered with scars when I met him. Even the scars I gave myself from scratching in withdrawals faded over time. But the Blight destroyed me. Werewolf claws, Shrieks, golems, ogres. Blood mages. Friendly fire caught me a few times, as well._

_“When I look back at Ostagar, now,” he says, “you have scars. It’s never changed how I see you. They’re like… tattoos of our adventures. When I did incredibly stupid things and you stayed with me anyway. All those times you believed I could save you from my mistakes but I never could. Your scars were reminders I hurt you and you survived and you stayed with me anyway because_ **you loved me** _that much. They_ **broke** _my_ **heart,** _Tess, but until I found you in the Wood, I didn’t remember what you looked like without them. You were_ **beautiful anyway.** _I_ **loved** _always having a reminder of much my wife loves me. I loved you more_ **after** _you got the scars than I loved you before they happened. I never wanted them gone ”_

 _This hurts also. He’s known for years my scars made me feel ugly. I’m the first Queen of Ferelden to forbid mirrors where I can see them. How can someone want his wife to feel_ **ugly** _all the time? “I don’t want reminders of every nightmare I’ve experienced, Alistair._ **Knowing** _they happened is_ **bad enough.** _I didn’t know the Architect could heal my scars, but I didn’t go into that surgery trying to_ **forget** _our_ **life.** _Healing scar tissue doesn’t make someone_ **forget.** _I had surgery to get a_ **new womb,** _and the scars disappearing were just… a_ **side** _effect of all the healing it took. I’m_ **tired** _of people cringing away from me like I’m a monster. That was the_ **gracious** _reward I received for_ **surviving** _all those horrors. Is it really that hard for you to see I_ **just** _wanted to be_ **beautiful?”**

 _“You were_ **always** _beautiful, Tess.”_

 _“To_ **you,** _maybe. Not to myself. Why can’t_ **I** _want to be_ **my** _idea of beautiful?” I ask. Neither of us can hold back tears now._ **“Why** _is it_ **so wrong** _for me to want to love the body_ **I** _see in my reflection?”_

 _“How do you think_ **I** _feel with_ **my** _scars?” Alistair searches me. “I hate mine too, but together, our scars_ **meant** _something, Tess. We_ **survived together.** _We’ve grown and cried and loved through every scar.” He pauses. His lip trembles and eyes fill again as he ducks his head. “I don’t think_ **my** _scars make me attractive.”_

 _I don’t mean to scoff. “Please, Alistair. How can you_ **not** _when women everywhere undress you with their eyes? When you’re constantly told you can do better than a_ **target** _dummy?”_

_“I’m not constantly told that.” He frowns and shakes his head. Tears roll down again._

_“I’ve_ **heard** _it. You can’t tell me it never happened. This is what I’m talking about, Alistair. You’re doing it again, now, even when it’s the topic of discussion. I asked you_ **simply stop lying** _to me in what_ **you** _think is in my best interest, but you’re_ **still doing** _it. You’re_ **doing** _it_ **right now.** _Instead of stopping, you’re trying to deviate to my_ **scars** _being gone._ **Why?** _Why can’t you do that one simple thing for me? When you know that’s what it will take for me move back in? Why are you trying to make this about my scars being gone? When I didn’t know my scars could be gone?”_

 _“Because we need to talk about it, Tess. It’s been a problem for you_ **here,** _at the palace. They’re important to_ **both** _of us, even though in different way. You_ **hated** _yours and wanted them gone, but I never did. They’re part of what made_ **us.** _When I healed in Haven, it was this huge ugly scar on my leg that made me see how important you are to me.” He looks at me now. “It let me see how much you cared for me. My_ **big ugly scar** _let me see I found a woman unlike any other I could ever meet. You loved me anyway, then.” His eyes scour mine. “But I hate seeing every scar. I never look at them long. I look at my reflection because I’m_ **King** _and I_ **must** _look decent for court. But you’re never there when I change because you_ **hate** _mirrors. You don’t see the mirrors I’ve broken because I look at my scarred body and wonder_ **how the fuck** _a woman as_ **beautiful as my wife** _could_ **ever want** _me. But you_ **do** _want me. Or… you_ **did.”**

 _I stare at him. I never knew this. He’s never mentioned his scars unless I brought them up. He’s never said anything bad about them. “You couldn’t have told me that?” I ask. “You_ **let** _me keep thinking_ **only I** _hated my scars? You couldn’t say ‘Tess, I hate mine too’?” Why does he do this to me?_

_Alistair sits quiet for a while. He wets his lips, breathes through his mouth. He has that look of defeat again, like he wore yesterday when I arrived. Like he’s given up again._

_“I’ve tried to compensate.” His voice is low. Doesn’t lift his head. He watches slowing tears drop on his hands. “I’ve tried hard to keep myself built up for you. You said you liked me best when I’m big like this. I’ve tried_ **really hard,** _Tess.” Alistair floods again with a scrunch of his face. This is hurts me too. Knowing he’s hurt inside from his own scars but never saying anything. We could have helped each other though each bad scar day. “I’ve_ **tried** _to be s-_ **sexy** _for you. But I_ **hate** _my scars. Some days I don’t want to look at myself. I accept my scars are_ **here,** _but I_ **hate** _them. I’m just as broken as you thought you were. After giving you my… my heart, and fighting monsters…” More tears fall with a deep, trembling breath. “There’s not much left of me, either.”_

 _Why did my husband hide all this from me? Why didn’t he want me to help him through this? Why did he kiss_ **my** _scars instead? It hurts. Knowing his scars hurt him so deep hurts me like I never expected. I thought he was trying to blame me again. Instead, he’s confessing pain and insecurity he’s never admitted before. Why did my husband not want me to help him feel better? I have to blink just to see him again. “You’ve_ **always** _been_ **beautiful,** _Alistair.”_

 _Alistair looks at me again. Eyes so sore and overworked he’s bloodshot and swollen. “That’s how_ **I** _felt about_ **you,** _Tess. You_ **weren’t** _your_ **scars,** _you never were your scars. That’s_ **not** _what I saw. I saw_ **Tess,** _I saw the woman I fell in love with. Yours scars were parts of you that added on as we went through life together. I_ **hate** _how my scars desecrated my body, but I would not have them_ **without you.** _And even if I did they wouldn’t mean the same thing. They wouldn’t be proof_ **our love** _got me through all those obstacles.”_

 _“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why did you hide all this from me? I thought --” I turn my head when my eyes blur again. “I thought you_ **liked** _them. I thought you… I thought you thought my scars were sexy. I_ **hated** _when you kissed them, but I thought… I thought that’s why you never complained. Why you tried to make me like mine.”_

 _His hand covers mine. Warm and heavy. I look over when Alistair folds his fingers around mine. “I didn’t want you to worry, Tess. I know you hate it when I say that, but it’s why I do_ **everything.** _Our scars were out of our control. I didn’t want you to worry about what we couldn’t control. The best I could do - the best I_ **knew** _to do - was try to make you feel beautiful with yours. Like_ **I** _felt when you enjoyed touching me even with_ **my** _scars. Like you made me feel when we made love. You wanted_ **me,** _out of_ **all** _the other men in the world, out of all the_ **scar-less** _men who probably make_ **better** _husbands.” Today is another day there are not enough tears. “That’s why I’ve done_ **_everything,_ ** _Tess. So_ **you** _don’t have to worry about what we may not be able to control._ **I don’t** _know how to take scars away._ **I don’t** _know how to prevent another country from declaring war if they really want it._ **I don’t** _know how turn back time to stop Loghain from hurting you. I don’t know how to fix_ **most** _of our problems. I’m_ **terrified** _of_ **losing** _you. Yes, I am_ **so** _scared of losing you I want to make sure you’re protected_ **every moment of the day.** _The_ **worst** _thoughts run through my head when you’re not where I expect you to be. I’m scared your_ **Calling** _will sneak up on me and I won’t get a chance to say goodbye first. I’m scared I’ll find you’ve_ **_bled_ ** _to death, or_ **kidnapped** _and_ **tortured** _and I was too late to save you because I didn’t know where you were. But I didn’t want_ **you** _worrying about what_ **I** _worry about. I know some of that is unlikely. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare me anyway.”_

_I don’t know what to say. We sniffle at the same. Alistair reaches up with his other hand and wipes my cheek. His thumb drags where my tears have made my skin raw. We search each other, quiet for a moment except sniffling and broken breath._

_I didn’t know about any of this. I didn’t know he worked so hard to keep me safe_ **so** _he could keep his face for me at the end of the day when it came time to undress and bathe. I didn’t know he’s scared my Calling is so close. I didn’t know he kissed my scars to keep me from hating them like he hates his._

_“I didn’t know you didn’t like the lists, Tess,” he shakes his head. “You used to ask me for them. You said it made it easier for you, when you didn’t have to think. When I thought for you.” His dripping eyes search all over mine. “When did that stop?”_

_It takes a moment to organize my memory now. So much new information scrambling to fill in blanks in my head. “Halfway through Cloudreach after the First Warden came.”_

_Alistair squeezes my hand. I look over again to see his face fall again. “Tess, that was two years ago. Why didn’t you say anything?”_

_“I did,” I insist. “I’ve asked you if I could go for walk alone-”_

_“In the_ **forest?”** _he searches me still._

 _“Our_ **private** _forest. Denerim walls border it. I wasn’t going anywhere no one could find me.”_

_“It’s not walled off at the end. Tess, game gets in there all the time. It’s where our meat come from. That’s where Cailan camped with Teagan and Fergus.”_

_“What about when I asked to sit in my garden by myself?”_

_“When? When have you ever asked_ **that,** _Tess?”_

 _“A_ **lot** _of times. I_ **hate** _my solar. I_ **don’t want** _look out at the city.”_

_His eyes shut and brows furrow like he’s trying to remember. “What… did I say each time you asked me?” He opens his eyes took at me again. “I’m trying to remember, Tess. Off hand right now, I don’t remember you asking to sit in your garden.”_

_“I don’t remember days. I just know I’ve asked. And you used to get upset with me.”_

_“Upset like how?” he asks. “I don’t remember fighting over you wanting to sit outside.”_

_“You yelled at me once. That thing where you didn’t talk to me for a couple days then you yelled at me. A couple times you got irritated with me asking and you asked me if I was meeting someone there. I never wanted to meet with anyone there, Alistair, I just wanted to sit there instead of my solar. But it wasn’t on my schedule. My solar was.”_

_“Was I yelling when I said that? I honestly don’t remember, Tess. I may have had a lot on my mind. If I yelled at you for that, I’m sorry. I_ **don’t remember** _right now.”_

 _I can’t even be upset for that. I can’t remember details well right now either. “I_ **hate** _it when you yell at me, Alistair.”_

 _He closes his eyes and nods; another tear sneaks down. “It scares you. I know. I’m sorry for that too, Tess. I don’t know how to change my voice. And I don’t - I don’t remember yelling at you for asking to sit in your garden. Not right now. Right now, as I sit here, I don’t know why I would have been upset with you for that. Unless I was_ **extremely busy** _and you_ **kept** _asking and I snapped at you… which that,_ **too,** _I’m sorry for. I never_ **mean** _to snap at anyone, especially you._ **Or** _if I thought you_ **wanted** _me to order you around. You used to like that, too.” Tiny drops of water cling to his lashes as his eyes open. Alistair stares ahead of us. “We used to play like that.”_

_“A long, long time ago.” It feels like a decade ago. Not only two years ago._

_My husband turns his head again. My eyelids are so sore from crying it hurts to look over. “Where do you want your solar to be, then? I never knew you didn’t like it.”_

_“It was easier not to say anything. Never any time to order people to rearrange two room up and down three flights of stairs.”_

_“Tess.” Alistair’s mouth droops. “We_ **have** _people who_ **do** _that sort of stuff. They got the chairs up there once, they can move them again. Don’t just_ **not** _say something like that.”_

 _“It’s what_ **you** _did about your_ **scars,** _though. How is this any different?” I stare back._

_I feel old right now. I’m tired. My mind is worn down and my eyes hurt. My heart is sore. I don’t think it’s midday and already I need the sun to fall._

_“That’s not the same thing, Tess. I did that to keep_ **you** _from worrying about_ **me** _when nothing could change it. What good does it do you to have a sitting room you don’t enjoy? I’m comfortable in my study. I like it how I found it. But if you don’t like your room,_ **you need to say something.** _That’s supposed to be_ **your** _room, where_ **you** _can relax._ **Maker,** _Tess.” His face scrunches again. “I never knew you were so fucking_ **miserable** _here._ **Why** _did you not_ **tell** _me? I don’t want you to be miserable at home. This is_ **your** _home_ **too,** _not just mine. I need_ **context** _when you tell me things._ **No,** _I_ **really** _don’t want you walking by yourself out past the orchards. I don’t want to find you_ **mangled** _by wolves or a bear. But your garden?_ **Have at** _it, it’s_ **yours,** _I never use it, I’ve tried to respect your quiet space. We’ll move your solar. You’ve twenty-eight other rooms to choose from.”_

_“The only room I like enough is your study. But that’s yours.”_

_“I never said you can’t sit in my study, Tess.” Alistair turns to face me. “If you want to sit in there, do it. If you need to be alone in there, just tell me. I understand that. I just don’t understand when you don’t say anything, or when you only tell me pieces.”_

**“Why** _can’t I walk past the orchards by myself? I do it at the Keep all the time. I go past the gardens by myself, I walk past the crops. Sometimes I take Po, but most the time it’s just me. I could get attacked by wolves and bears_ **there,** _too. Stags can be dangerous, too. But I_ **haven’t.** _No one there worries I’ll be mangled.”_

 _His face falls and hardens at the same time. “No one as in_ **Anders?”**

 _“Not_ **just** _him. He’s not the only one at the Keep. If I want a walk first before Varel meets with me, he’s fine with it. Woolsey sees nothing wrong with the Commander taking long walks alone. Not even Garavel, and_ **he** _assigns_ **patrols.** _They trust me to be able to defend myself if something happens. I’m not helpless, Alistair. I don’t need the entire elite guard with me at all times. If I can survive out past the Keep’s borders, I can survive out past the orchards here. And doesn’t me surviving without the guard this past month prove I don’t need them? Or in Blackmarsh or the Wending Wood?”_

 _Alistair huffs and sits back, withdrawing his hand, looking away. As if I’m being stubborn. “You know what?_ **Fine.** _If taking a dangerous walk where no one can help you is what you want, then_ **fine.** **Do** _it. Just don’t expect me to be happy about it. Don’t expect me to sit back_ **calm and happy** _about it, especially when none of my drink gets me drunk enough to forget.”_

 _I can’t stop my face upturning with the twist in my chest. I don’t realize I’ve leaned away from him until my shoulder hits the bedpost._ **“That’s** _why I stopped_ **asking** _for things, Alistair. Because you do_ **this** _to to me when I do. Sometimes you yell at me for it. You always act like I’m being unfair. Like I ask to take an_ **arm** _off, or like I’m asking for divorce. You treat me like I’m unreasonable. All I did was ask why I can’t walk past the orchards when I do it at the Keep with no problems. I asked_ **Why.** _That’s not an unfair question.”_

 _Alistair doesn’t move for a moment. Then a heavy sigh takes him and he frowns deeper, hanging his head. Still doesn’t look at me. “It_ **scares** _me, Tess. I just said that a few moments ago. I don’t want to find you dead.”_

 _“But if I can do it at the_ **Keep** _without hurting myself,_ **why** _wouldn’t I be able to do the same_ **here?** _I’m_ **not helpless.** _I_ **know** _how to_ **defend** _myself. I’ve trained by a Crow, a Magister,_ **and** _a Qunari._ **And** _I can use_ **magic** _now too. I don’t need to take a_ **dagger** _with me to_ **hurt** _someone. Or in case wolves attack.”_

 _Alistair frowns harder still, then shakes his head. “No._ **No,** _Tess, I can’t risk that. You can’t ask me to risk that.”_

 _I look away. My own frown is from pain of stagnation. Nothing’s changed. We know each of us have been miserable here at the palace, but nothing has changed. Nothing’s allowed to happen to amend that. I stand up; his eyes follow me. “Then you aren’t allowed to go to the tavern anymore. Not with Zevran, not Eirik, not Domhnall. Not alone. If I can’t go for a simple fucking walk out past the orchard in broad daylight where I won’t even be alone anyway because you pay gardeners, then you can’t run off to be stupid with a bunch of drunk men at the tavern each week. Whether or not I’m here to enforce it.” I look back at him from the doorway. Alistair stares at me like I am beyond unfair right now. “See how_ **you** _like being restricted when there’s no fucking reason for it,” I tell him. “You’re not making a good case for yourself. You’re not giving me any reason to come back.”_

 **“Tess!”** _he calls after me, his voice more filled with desperation than debate. Not quite what I expected after a moment ago._

 _“No! Don’t_ **Tess** _me, Alistair!” I turn and look at him. “This_ **hurts** _me!_ **You** _want to have all these freedoms for_ **yourself,** _but_ **I** _can’t have_ **one!** **Maker fucking forbid I** _don’t let you run off to the_ **tavern** _once a week, but_ **I** _can’t go for a_ **stupid fucking walk** _by_ **myself** _through an_ **orchard in broad daylight** _when_ **I** _killed the Archdemon!! If_ **I** _could do_ **that,** _then I can_ **certainly** _defend myself from the_ **damn trees!”**

_Alistair stands staring like he doesn’t know how to allow me to even try it once. Like Zathrian and the fucking werewolf curse. Alistair thinks he’s too old to forgive Death for trying to steal me two and a half years ago._

**“How** _can you_ **do** _this to me?” I stare back. “You_ **lie** _and_ **sneak,** _then get upset with me when I move on because I thought you_ **left** _me for good. Then_ **now,** _when you_ **beg** _me to stay_ **again** _and I say what I need you to do is give me some say in my own schedule and don’t hide things from me, you do it all over again! You’re restricting me_ **again** , _and you’re fucking upset at_ **me** _for trying to give you a taste of_ **your own medicine!** _That is not fucking fair to me! I_ **don’t** _want to_ **live** _like this! It_ **doesn’t** _feel_ **good, does** _it?” I ask him. “If_ **you** _don’t want to live like this,_ **why** _should_ **I?** _If_ **you** _wouldn’t live with this, you_ **can’t** _expect_ **me** _to.” I turn and leave again._

_It was a mistake to try to talk. I knew he would do this! He always does! He always promises to try to treat me different, but he doesn’t. When it comes time to prove he’ll treat me different, he never does._

_“No no no! Tess, please don’t!” Alistair grabs my arm and pulls me back in the room much fucking easier than I want him to. The door closes too far away from me._

_“No!_ **Don’t do** _that, Alistair!” He’s so close I can’t shake him off. “I want to leave!_ **Please** _just let me leave!” I can’t stop my pout and my tears again._

 _“Tess,_ **please.** **Please** _don’t leave me! I’m_ **sorry!** _I’m_ **so sorry!”** _He’s trying to stay at my level so I don’t have to look up to see him. His hands wring my arm just tight enough to keep there._

 _“You just said that right before you forbid me to walk in the orchard. No. I_ **need** _to_ **leave.”** _I can’t get away. He won’t let me go. I keep shaking my head and I can’t see though my tears. “Let me go!”_

 _“I’m_ **sorry!** _Tess, I_ **am!”**

 _“I need to go!_ **Please** _let go of me! I need- I need Anders right n- right now._ **Please.”** _I almost can’t hear my own voice. My heart thumps and my insides claw around and I have no idea what Alistair will do._ **“Please!”** _I just want to sleep. I want the strongest potion Anders can make and I want to sleep so hard no one can wake me up. I just want this day to end._

_This is what makes him step back; Anders' name, or begging him to let go? Alistair stands staring while I shake him off so hard I lose my balance and stumble into the stand with the fire poker. The clank is so loud it startles me, even as I’m the one falling with it. When I pick myself up and smear soot stains on my thighs, Alistair’s calves hit the bed. He falls with the flow, staring into the void as he bounces on the bed. One hand wipes my face while the other fumbles at the door. As soon as the knob turns, I yank it open and step out._

_“I’m sorry I scared you.”_

_It stops my feet. Like he hoped, no doubt. It takes more effort than I’d guess not to turn my head._

_Alistair stares from the bed like he knows it’s all over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, Tess. I didn’t… I never meant to make you stop loving me.”_

_I can’t move. I feel people staring; can’t see them, but I feel them. I want to run. I want to run to Vigil’s Keep and my Safe Place where no one can touch me there. But I can’t move._

_Alistair’s never apologized for scaring me before. Not at the moment he's scared me. Not when it's mattered._

_“I’m sorry I don’t know how to be the husband you need.” Tears stream down his face with no end. A broken man breaking more each second._

_I don’t want to stay here. He’s never done this to me before. Never pulled me in and shut me in a room with him and refused to let me go._

_Part of me wants to see if he means it. If my husband really understands how he hurts me. Over stupid things like me trying to leave the room to be alone when he throws a fit when I asked to be allowed to take walks alone. If he understands I need him to stop this stuff. I want him to want to stop hurting me like this._

_My feet move back in the room anyway. I close the door, but stay right next to it with my hand ready._

_Alistair stares at me. Given up. Knows he’s beyond repair._

_“I_ **more than love you,** _Tess,” he croaks. “I more than love you so much I’m_ **terrified** _of you_ **leaving.** _I wasn’t exaggerating.” He struggles to keep his face from scrunching. “I don’t have anything without you.”_

_“You have friends,” I don’t sound like myself either._

_“It’s not the same.” His head falls into his hands and he weeps like a ball with legs. “How did I screw up this bad? Tess, I can’t-- I_ **can’t!”** _Alistair wails into his palms. His whole body shakes with his head._

_I can’t stop crying. He wasn’t this broken when he thought we were dying in the Deep Roads. My chest didn’t hurt this bad in the Deep Roads, or when I tried to leave him before the Landsmeet. Or when I thought he abandoned me. I’ve never wanted to run and hold him at the same time._

_I don’t know what to do._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	28. A Chance to Be Understood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares, then perfect dreams. Tess just can't get a break. Anders, of all people, is the one who can help Tess through her marital problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> A third though, this chapter includes a link to a side-chapter, Tesslyn's Perfect Dream. The rest of this chapter after that break will not make sense unless you read Tesslyn's Perfect Dream. 
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Kogan, by Two Steps From Hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsAeAVfwDFM)  
> [Hummingbird Heartbeat, by Katy Perry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dssCMuWd758)

_I tried. I tried to sit on the bed with my husband and comfort him. I’ve never seen him cry like this. I’ve never hurt like this._

_But when he touched me, I flinched. I didn’t mean to. But I did. It felt like he would grab me and drag me again, lock me in again. I meant to reach out to hold him. But I flinched._

_Alistair froze and searched me, more horrified than I’ve ever seen him. My husband scared me and he knows it. He always said he never wanted me afraid of him._

_He fell behind me on the bed and cried harder. Inconsolable. Because of me. Because I flinched._

_So I went to my family’s home. Away from the palace._

_Pádraig took one look at me and sighed as his face fell. “He did not.”_

_“Andraste preserve me, I’m about to murder a king.” Nathaniel started off stuffing a dagger in his belt, but Pádraig held the back of his collar._

_Anders hurried down the stairs, his eyes on my face. “What happened to you?” His voice might have shed tears._

_A unanimous sigh rang out as I reached up and remembered I’d gotten soot on my face. I’d forgotten all about it. I didn’t realize soot could look like bruises._

_But they knew something was wrong. I didn’t look at any of them when I told them we fought. I think they already knew. I think they know my husband frightened me._

_I told Pádraig he might need to keep an eye on Alistair tonight. Keep him from… poisons or blades. I don’t know if Alistair would try to kill himself. But he looked broken enough. Broken Enough pushes anyone over the edge. I know; I’ve been there. Pádraig, Zevran, Oghren, and half the guard exchanged glances before sighing again and rushing out the door._

_Anders tried to comfort me, asked me what I needed. Nathaniel kept trying to get me to talk. I asked for a potion, strongest one Anders had. I just wanted to sleep. So I could wake up and be done with this nightmare._

_I don’t remember much after I fell on my parents old bed. The last thing I saw was Anders lying next to me and his fingers brushing hair off my face. I only caught a few notes of the lullaby he hummed._

 

 

 

_I don’t remember how we made up. It must have been a hot mess of tears and kisses. Kisses that led to roaming hands, drawn moans, and starving tongues._

_I slide down over him as he lays back on the bed. His eyes lock on me, gaping like the first time we made love; the night he lost his virginity. I can’t help the sounds that come out. He feels so good inside me, hot and_ **hard,** _perfect pressure in all the right places. I love riding him. It pushes him at angles that rob my breath and flood my body._

_I don’t-- I don’t want to stop. Don’t want to move. Fuuuuck he just feels so good!_

_Alistair jerks beneath me. I look down to see him still gaping, face stuck in surprise. His hips fidget beneath me, his breath comes shallow. He’s trying not to look away. I know that look: he want me to ride faster. He wants me to make him spill._

_Moving makes more noises. Shifts him inside, pushes him all the way in. My hair hangs around his head as I lean down. Rolling my hips rips a moan from his throat. His face is wet when I kiss him._

_My husband is crying._

_Neither of us expected to make love again._

_I kiss him again while I pull my hips back. A deep whine breaks my voice when I push back down. I tell him I more than love him. I’m sorry, I’ll stay. I won’t leave again._

_He makes another noise when I climb back up. Better control. I can go as fast as he likes like this. Pushing on his chest to roll back down bulges his eyes. Alistair loses breath. I move my hands to brace my weight, but instead of his heartbeat beneath my palm, something stabs me._

_In a flare of pain, I yank my hand away with a cry far from pleasure escapes. My hand is fucking bleeding! A thick clean cut that almost splits my palm in two. What the fucking void?!_

_I look down at Alistair - and wish I hadn’t. The tip of a dagger protrudes from his chest. Right through his heart. My diamond-coated rose dagger. The dagger he made for me._

_“No no! No! Alistair?”_

_My husband stares at me, trembling, gasping. Stammers he’s sorry he scared me. Still naked, still under me, still in me -- Alistair jerks again. And his head falls as breath leaves him for good._

_Alistair laid himself on my dagger while we made love one last time._

 

 

_A scream rips through the air as I sit up. No no no no no!!! NO!! Maker, that didn’t happen! I look at my hand, but it’s too fucking dark. It hurts, I feel the cut! Maker no no no!! Why did this happen?_

_I trip over something heavy on the bed and my hand lands wrong. Someone yelps my name as the cold stone floor rushes to me. I scramble to the fire place in a tangle of cloth and look at my palm._

_No cut. No cut?_

_I flip my hand over, and over, and over. There’s no cut? No, I_ **felt** _it! It_ **hurts,** _it fucking hurts!! Where is it?! I rake and rake my nails and try to find it, not on either fucking hand, WHERE IS IT?!--_

_“Tess! What are you doing?” Anders slides next to me, scrunching the rug up between us. Woken too soon and trying to make sense as I am, he takes my hand and turns it over in the firelight. “What happened?” He searches my face._

_I don’t know what's going on. “… It was real. It felt real.”_

_Anders sighs, overcome with concern and relief at once. “You had a nightmare?” he guesses._

_Nightmare? That’s it? Just a dream?_

_I look at my hand. No cut? Anders’ sleepy face falls again as I tell him what I remember. When I get to my bleeding hand, my heart thunders again. Alistair’s… my dagger… I can’t breathe. Alistair on my…_

_I have to go save Alistair._

_I don’t remember what I said as I ran out. It’s dark out here. I know the palace is up ahead because the lampposts. Only the district gate lamps stay lit this late. I don’t know where I’m stepping. Only where I need to go._

_It didn’t feel like a dream._

_Cries of surprise follow me from the gates. I don’t see faces. I just try to fly. Alistair doesn’t wake up till I grab his shirt and yank. I have to know! He’s startled and worried and tries to back away from me, tries to push my hands away._

_“No no no!” I shake my head. It’s fucking harder to rip open shirts than in those stupid romance books! I need this to be easier, I need to be stronger! He needs to stop fighting me! I need to check! I don’t stop till his shirt hangs open down his chest._

_He’s not bleeding. No blood? I swat his hands away again and keep feeling. No cut, no blood. No dagger._

_“Tess! What are you doing?!” Alistair croaks as I yank his ripped shirt down his shoulder and push him forward._

_No dagger. Only skin. He’s not bleeding. Not gasping. Not dying._

_I have to blink to see him. I push on his chest again, feel around. Try to find a scar; maybe they sewed him up?_

_But nothing. Nothing. No scars. Not bleeding._

_My husband did_ **not** _lay on my dagger._

_My heels dig into my bottom and I can’t clear my eyes. It was just a dream? Just a bad dream?_

_Alistair grabs my wrists to stop my hands. “What are you-- Tess?” His voice is coarse and brittle._

_He’s a blur in front of me. I can’t speak yet. My jaw shakes and water floods and fills and spills again. I keep trying to wipe his face, but it doesn’t make him easier to see. I only realize I’m crying when I squeeze him between my arms. Tears burst against the skin under my face._

_He’s not dead. He’s not dying. Alistair’s alive, and his arms are alive and warm, and he’s_ **not** _dead. It was just a nightmare._

_Just a nightmare._

 

 

 

_(read:[Tesslyn's Perfect Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917505) ; rest of chapter will not make sense otherwise)_

 

 

 

_“When people die and go to the Fade, do you think they watch over us?” I ask the approaching Taint._

_“How did you know it was me?” Anders replies._

_I look over. Anders indeed, holding a covered basket. He smiles at me. “I… I didn’t. I thought you were Nathaniel. He said he was coming back.”_

_“I convinced him to let me go alone. He says to give you this, though. It smells good, at least.”_

_I roll my eyes. “I’m not hungry. I_ **told** _him that.”_

_“Well… when you don’t eat all day, everyone’s concerned.” He gestures with his head to the sitting logs._

_Cailan’s sitting logs. This was where Cailan, Teagan, and Fergus used to camp every month. Past the orchards where the bailey could not be built in case the cliff gave way. Wild game sneaks in to the orchard from here. After I woke up from my dream, I told Alistair I needed to walk out here, no questions. He wasn't happy, but walking here gave context to his worry: it took me an hour to reach this place. I suspect few people come out this far. The camp is long since used, but the sitting logs and a fire pit remain._

_I’ve been standing here for hours. This is all that’s left of Cailan at the palace. And it’s naught but a couple logs and a circle of stones._

_“What did you ask? If the dead watch over us from the Fade?” Anders glances at me while he pulls out corked bottles of mead._

_“Yes. Do they? Do you know?” I sit by him, eager for an answer. I need to know. I need to know if that was Cailan talking to me in my dream._

_Anders watches me. He’s trying to interpret my sudden interest in this. “I wish I had an answer for you. I don’t know. They say it’s where the souls of the dead go, but was that only when the Black City was still Golden and the Maker lived there?” He tips his head, searches my eyes from another angle._

_I haven’t meant to ignore him today. I just feel so lost now. Out of place in this world when my dream was so vivid. I know he feels lost today too. I can see it on him while he searches me._

_“You had another dream?” He asks, but I know he knows it already._

_I nod._

_“Another nightmare?”_

_“No…” Far from anything horrible._

_“About someone who died?_ **Different** _than the nightmare in the night?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Anders yanks the cork from a bottle and holds it out. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” He’s so good at being Friend when I need one. I wish Alistair could see I’m not just fucking Anders for payback._

_I’m hesitant. I dreamed of a perfect husband. A perfect husband who is not Anders or Alistair. Alistair only resembles that if I consider the husband he is the dreams of our Fade children. Anders is closer to the husband from my dream, but even if I ran away with him, he doesn’t want to be around people, and children would be in the picture in time. It wouldn't ever be the same. That won’t ever compare to what I had with Cailan in my dream. Concern grows on Anders’ face as I feel my brow scrunching up. “How much do you know about King Cailan?” I take the bottle, but I don’t feel like drinking. Not even to get drunk._

_“Alistair’s brother, right?” he says. I nod. “Other than he was King and died at Ostagar, not much. Oh, and Nathaniel said you were betrothed to him as children.”_

_“I was.” I take a deep breath. This is hard. Harder than I imagined. Although, I never though I’d be telling my dream like a story, let alone at all. Or telling it to another lover. It still feels private in my head._

_As hard as it is to get the words flowing, as soon as they are out, I can’t stop talking. Even parts of the dream I never wanted to tell Anders, like making love to Cailan. What everything felt like from Cailan’s perspective. What Cailan felt for me his whole life. How Cailan felt climbing the horse with me and riding away._

_I can’t help tears when I recall the perfect life Cailan made for me. Our life in town, with friends, dancing, wines, jams. Ending perfect nights with hard tea and blankets on our roof under the stars. Growing old together with my perfect husband; something I’ll never be able to do in this life. My old, wrinkly husband helping me out of bed because we couldn’t do so without each other anymore. Looking in a mirror and seeing my own old, wrinkly skin and white hair, and Cailan was right there with me, creased and white also. He still loved me as he’d loved me his whole life. My perfect husband for decades and decades _ **and decades.**

_Then I woke up and realized it was all a dream. Remembered Cailan died at Ostagar. Remembering I lit his pyre when we returned to Ostagar. I tell him Cailan put himself in battle on purpose, not only to buy me time, but I think to remove himself from seeing me love another man; worse, his brother. Like he thought I did before he said Goodbye at Ostagar. I tell Anders I think Cailan killed himself because I broke his heart._

_“It feels like my husband died,” I confess. I’m a sopping mess of tears, sniffles, and little breath. “I mean, he did - Cailan_ **did,** _but… in my dream. I_ **know** _it’s not real, but I had a life with him there. I spent an_ **entire lifetime** _with Ca-Cailan and I remember it! Os-Ostagar doesn’t seem real anymore, that dream does. He died, my_ **husband** _died. It’s m-_ **my fault** _he died, and my f-fault I woke up. I’ve lost him forever!” I almost can’t understand myself. “This is-- all I have of him._ **This.** _This camp.”_

_When I wipe my eyes and dare to look at Anders, his own eyes are glossy and red. Ever empathetic; feeling way too much for his own good. He sniffles with me, face drawn as if the story was his._

_“I’m sorry. I didn’t… it hurts. I nev-never - I don’t even have anything to remember him ex-except… except Alistair. My_ **actual** _hus-husband.” A pathetic noise breaks from my throat. “And I’m sitting here tell- telling_ **you** _about my p-perfect fake husband.” The fucking irony in my life needs to end already. “You’re stuck in the middle of me and my t-two husbands.”_

_“Tess.” Anders pushes the basket away and pulls me in. “Not everything is bad. Nothing is your fault.” I don’t believe him anymore; if I had said Yes to Cailan when he first wanted to run away, none of this bad life would have happened. “Maker, I can’t... I’m sorry. I wish I could make it real for you.” His head fits on mine right now. “I’m sorry you had such a trying night.”_

_The old campsite is still. Still and dolorous when noise of heartbreak of what never was fills the air. Like whatever aura of Cailan that might remain mourns the reason I’m here today._

_Coming back to Denerim was a mistake. There’s been nothing but heartache since I came back. Telling Alistair about the miscarriage, Alistair’s nightmare, then our fight. Then my own nightmare. Now my perfect dream that doesn’t relate to anything in my life right now and only adds more tears. As if I haven’t cried enough in the two days I’ve been back. A perfect dream that felt more real than anything, with a perfect husband whom none of my two men in real life can measure up to. I never should have come back. I should have had Alistair meet us at Vigil’s Keep instead. Why did this even make sense before? Being here only bring nightmares, or attempts to escape to serenity when I have none in real life._

_After however many moments of sniffing and wiping tears, Anders speaks again. “That’s why you asked if the dead speak from the Fade.” I’m not sure it’s a question or statement. “Because it was in his point of view.” I don’t know what else to do right now but nod. Anders… Baldric… pauses. “I’m sorry I can’t answer that, Tess. I hope it’s true. It would be a waste of souls if they didn’t stick around to help anyone after, even from the Fade.” He pauses again. “Everyone seems to want to run away with you._ **Alistair** _wants to run away and make dream children with you._ **I** _want you to run away with me._ **Cailan** _wanted to. Not even counting how many times me, Nathaniel, and Oghren have run with you already."_

 _I can’t even groan at the dark sarcasm of it all. “One woman got_ **three lovers** _to want to run away with her? It makes me sound like a_ **minx.”**

_“No, Tess.” Anders pushes me up to see my face. “You have a big heart. Not many people love like you do.”_

_His face falls with mine. I’m not hiding my expressions well. “Three lovers? How is that even attractive to anyone?”_

_“Two, in reality. I’m sorry emphasize that, but your life isn’t as bad as all that sounds. You have a_ **huge heart,** _Tess. I never wanted to run away_ **because** _of you. In time, I want to be in my cottage in the mountains with all my cats, and I would like you to be_ **part** _of it. But I didn’t want that_ **because** _of you. It was something I already dreamed and now want to_ **share** _with you. But,” he adds again, “you make me want to stay. More than I’d like to run with you one last time, I want to_ **stay** _for you. You have_ **such** _a big heart. It’s not just me and Alistair you love. Your_ **dog,** _and Nathaniel, and Oghren, for starters. I wish_ **everyone** _loved as many people as you do. I feel_ **sorry** _for Alistair, that he can’t see that. I feel sorry for_ **Cailan** _for not getting to experience life with you. It doesn’t make you a minx, Tess. You’re not a bad person for loving people. You don’t play around, you’re not doing…_ **us** _to prove you can have what you want. I_ **know** _you aren’t. And you’re not a whore. I’m pretty sure I would have met you already if you were.” I can’t help a laugh, as wet and broken as it sounds. Such a bad joke. Anders smiles for me and wipes my cheek._

 _“You’ve had to deal with losing your husband;_ **twice** _now, with this dream you had. I mean…” He shrugs and looks out over the ocean beyond. “You’re my closest experience to marriage and living with the person I l-… I love.” My eyes water again. Anders has a hard time using the L-word, even in jokes. “But if you died, or if I wake up one day and realize everything we’ve had was nothing but a dream… I don’t think I’d stop mourning you. You still mourn Alistair leaving you at the_ **Keep** ; _and now you might again for that forsaken nightmare. And now Cailan.” He looks at me. “You have a_ **big heart,** _Tess. It doesn’t make_ **anything** _your fault. You’re not broken or ruined. I_ **promise** _that.”_

 _Anders says the antidepressant I take each day may be letting me process emotions and memories at last. There are two kinds of dreams, he tells me: dreams our minds create, and dreams created in the Fade. Dreams created in the Fade hold no function except to let demons sample what they desire, though they can be good or bad as natural dreams. After meeting Justice and hearing my dream of Cailan, Anders_ **wants** _to believe good spirits influence our minds, as well. The dreams our minds create, however, serve survival. Natural dreams help us process each day, regulating our energies, and in turn our bodies, through images while we sleep. Tevinter Magisters studied dreams and brain functions beyond imagination when discovering ways to physically enter the Fade. He says that’s when they learned dreams don’t only happen in the Fade. Natural dreams compare to babies teething. Only babies teethe because the pain from such would drive a healthy adult to madness; no one remembers the pain because we can’t remember being so young. If we didn’t dream, we’d all go insane. Even if we don’t remember dreams, they still occur. He says my potion for depression may be helping me work through emotional struggles I should have been able to growing up. I may have a myriad of vivid dreams now, at least for a while._

_Me having dreams is good for me. It should help the potion repair what it’s working on. With everything that’s happening of late, Anders says it may take a few months to notice most changes; after my life calms down. But this is good for me. He's sorry I'm having nightmares and waking up feeling widowed, but dreams are a good sign. And he’s here for me whenever I need to talk about them, or cry, or need a hug. He’ll do what he can to help keep my life as normal as possible._

_Anders believes the dream of Cailan might be what I really want; in a marriage, in a husband, for life. After observing me since we traveled to Blackmarsh, after watching me with everyone I care about, he sees references to things I enjoy in real life. The things that make me happiest in reality all came together in a perfect picture. Like Cailan, Alistair dreams of taking me away and having a life of our own. But that’s where the dream of Cailan and Alistair’s dream cease similarities. Alistair dreams of living out of reach of society; like Anders. A private home, with no one to say how we must live. In my dream, Cailan achieved all that for me_ **within** _society. In my dream, I had peace and_ **my** _idea of perfection and a perfect husband while living amongst others._

_As Anders speaks, I realize he is right: I don’t want to abandon people and community to be happy and loved and accepted. My dream of Cailan let me achieve it all at once. If the Taint wasn’t a thirty-year death sentence with nightmares and monsters, life at Vigil’s Keep closest matches the life I want. Acceptance within community, not needing to live in isolation to feel free. _

_I'm also not sure Alistair wants to live in isolation like in his dreams. He_ **loves** _socializing. He loves frequenting the tavern. He loves having friends and laughing and sharing stories. Teagan’s old town Rainesfere was paradise for him. It hurts me more to think deep down, Alistair doesn’t want our dream life to come true, yet he strives for it anyway; the best he can as King. I think Alistair could love the kind of life I dreamed of; no matter it was Cailan, not him. But he insisted it was best for both of us if he was King. We had to live where_ **he** _was happiest. Not me, not us as a couple._ **Him.**

_After a long moment of silence, Anders asks me if I even want to be Alistair’s wife anymore. After the fight yesterday. After everything._

_I don’t know. I miss him… but Alistair frightened me. The nightmare he died in scared me enough to come back, but his actions yesterday still frightened me. “If I think about the good times long enough, I miss him so much it hurts.” I tell him I felt forced into my relationship with Alistair at first. But Alistair grew on me when I realized he was trying to help me. By the time he almost lost his leg in Haven, I loved him. I sniff again, staring down at my hands. “More than love. Broken and sewn. That’s what our vows were. But he gets so upset over trivial things. Like yesterday when we fought. It was_ **fine** _until I asked why I can’t take walks outside by myself. Out here, specifically. That’s nothing to get upset about. But he wouldn’t give me a straight answer. He keeps getting upset over What Ifs. Is it_ **really** _so hard to_ **not hide things** _from people? I mean, when you say you_ **more than love them** _every day?” I shake my head as my eyes flood all over again._

 _“I wish I could answer that, too. It might not seem like hiding to him, as bad as that sounds. He doesn’t consider not writing you for two and half months abandonment, either. But then, look at Oghren - he says he’s left that wife of his a lot. They fight, then he leaves for months.” He pauses. “Maybe it’s a warrior thing? Something with how their brains process battle. Or maybe they only consider it neglect, not abandonment._ **Because** _they came back.”_

_“I think if the other person doesn’t know it’s not permanent, then it’s abandonment. That goes fucking along with secrets. Not returning when they should. Not writing. Not saying when they’ll return. Showing up on a sudden, unexpected doesn’t make the secret go away.”_

_“I agree,” he nods. Anders stares ahead while he drinks, arms resting on his knees. “Nathaniel agrees.” Pause. “I’m sorry it’s not enough that we agree.”_

_I sit quiet for a while before speaking again. “After that nightmare, and from how he reacted when he realized he scared me, I’m worried Alistair might... kill himself if I leave for good.” My eyes water again and my face scrunches. “Like Cailan killed himself at Ostagar because he thought I left him for good. Only Alistair doesn’t have a war to throw himself in. He can’t put himself where he knows he’ll fail. He’ll…” Poison himself. Or worse. I don’t know if if he will. I don’t know if Alistair could do that. But the thought frightens me._

_“That’s a_ **horrible burden,** _Tess.” Anders watches me, feeling too much for his own good again. “It’s not fair of him to_ **burden you** _with that, even if right now it’s_ **only** _an idea._ **No** _one should feel responsible for someone’s death like that.” He makes a noise and shakes his head, wincing in disgust. “That’s_ **not fair.”**

_Anders takes a deep breath; many breaths, until his face calms. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let that work me up. Not something we should focus on right now.” He looks around. “You said this is all you have of Cailan?”_

_I’m glad he changed the subject. He’s right. I need to breathe away from my fears right now._

_I nod and wipe my face with a sniffle. “The camp. He used to camp here for a week once a month with my brother and Teagan. Far enough away from the palace to be a vacation for Cailan.” I look up. I can’t imagine where their tents might have gone. There’s no picture in my head now of Cailan except the perfect dream I had. “Within hours of the Landsmeet declaring Alistair King, the entire palace was redecorated. Except for my solar and Alistair’s study and the library. New colors, new drapes, furniture rearranged, paintings added or moved. Those lamp troughs went up in two weeks. Everything Maric and Cailan put up was taken down and… I don’t know where it is. There’s not even anything of Cailan’s in the bloodlock in Alistair’s room, except the tea he sterilized himself with.”_

_“That was real?” he looks at me again._

_“Yeah. I think so, at least. We found the herb there. Zevran said it was an Antivan sterility herb. Anora never had children. Everyone thought_ **she** _was barren.” After holding the bottle for how long, I drink my mead at last. I’ve been crying so much it tastes bland. “Fergus didn’t know Loghain had poisoned me. I don’t think Cailan knew either.” My face scrunches again before I can stop it. “Mor-Morrigan thought Cailan did it to protect me. Sterilized himself to keep- to keep Alistair the only heir. To prevent tying Loghain to the th-throne for good. So I could come home without worrying.”_

_Anders stares at me. “He must have loved you a lot.”_

_I can't look at him right now. “I messed up_ **so bad** _growing up. I lost count how many times he asked me to run away. And fu-fucking Loghain had me convinced Cailan_ **abused** _me. I don’t even remember why I_ **wanted** _to believe him.”_

 _“I wish I could have been there to help kill that asshole. He’s changed my whole perspective on war heroes. He commanded the king’s army to keep Orlesians from raping women, only to - everything he did to you.” Anders sighs. “I’m so sorry, Tess. For everything.” His head turns again after another pause. “That_ **rum** _you like…” I raise my eyes to his. “The tropical stuff from Par Vollen. Was that Cailan’s favorite, or yours?”_

_I stall to stare at him. No one’s asked me about this before. “His. But I like it. I first tried it here, at a party.” I look down again. “Maric kept it stocked for Cailan.”_

_“Your favorite drink is Cailan’s?” From the corner of my eye, his face falls. “Tess.”_

_I never drank it_ **because** _Cailan liked it, but Cailan is the reason I like it. He urged me to try it one day; nagged me until I did. He sent crates of milk fruit rum to Highever for me twice a year; after a while, he sent them through Teagan. I don’t think my family ever figured out why he only sent that particular drink._

_Something else I did not appreciate of Cailan until now. He was trying to share his favorite drink with me when I would not drink with him in person. I can’t stop crying today._

_Anders reaches over and takes my free hand. When I look at him again, he smiles and squeezes my hand. “You have_ **that,** _don’t you? The rum. It may not be a trinket, but it’s something he loved. You can remember him with that.”_

_I don’t know what to say. A man I’ve let in as Lover sits here now giving me something to remember my dead not-husband with. Being my Friend when I need one. Trying to help me. No complaints._

_“Thank you.” It comes out weaker than I meant. But Anders smiles and squeezes my hand again. I’ve never had a friend like him before. I’ve never had anyone be exactly what I need._

_Except for Cailan. In my dream._

_…I guess when he lived, too. Even when I never appreciated him until this dream._

_My eyes rain all over again. Anders is right. I can remember Cailan his - our - favorite drink._

_I have something I can keep all to myself now._

_It’s sundown when we leave Cailan’s camp. Anders is more calming an element than he realizes. I think it’s why he’s_ **able** _to be whatever I need. He let me talk. Grieve. Helped me find a way to remember a dead man he should be jealous of. He’s so supportive his very aura is calming. After I finished the bottle of mead, I felt better. It didn’t feel as foreign to eat as it did since I woke up. With the twilight calling us, we pack up and throw the scraps. Anders holds the basket so I can hold his hand while we walk._

 _I think Anders is right. I think my perfect dream used Cailan to portray what I want and need of my marriage. Only I’m sort of married to two different men right now. In some way, Anders is like Cailan from my dream. I think that’s why I’m so drawn to him. Not because now he reminds me of Cailan, but because Anders has qualities I need in my marriage. Not every quality. I’m not sure anyone will ever compare to the perfection Cailan gave me; it still feels too real to be a dream. But at this point in my life, Anders has strong qualities Cailan fulfilled. More qualities than my actual husband offers these days. Or qualities I need_ **now** _in life; for at one time, Alistair fulfilled my needs._

_Anders lets go of my hand when we reach the orchard. It’s visible from the palace. He doesn’t want to be the cause of another argument that may cause more nightmares. He also takes a deep breath._

_“If you decide to… stay with Alistair, Tess… I think you should tell him about the dream. The Cailan dream. Did you already?” He looks at me._

_I shake my head. Maker, what a dreadful thought. “No. I don’t know if I can do that. You didn’t see him at Ostagar, when we went back. He was so jealous. The darkspawn had pinned C-” Oh, please, Maker, I don’t want to cry again. “-Cailan up like a forsaken trophy. I asked for a pyre. It made Alistair jealous. The darkspawn scattered Cailan’s armor, and it made Alistair jealous when I tried to cut it off. He even stopped_ **talking** _to me for awhile, that day. He walked off and didn't say a word and insinuated his bad mood was_ **my** _fault. Like_ **I** _screwed up. And Cailan stashed Maric’s famous sword in a bloodlock chest so only Alistair could get it later, but saying _**Cailan** _used it made Alistair jealous again. I wanted him to keep the shield and sword. I thought we should keep the armor. Stuff we should have kept for ceremonial display. Theirin heirlooms when all others were destroyed before Maric’s rebellion._ **Important** _stuff. A Theirin_ **made** _Ferelden. I wasn’t asking him to keep anything meaningless.” I shake my head. “He was reluctant to let me even make a pyre until_ **Pádraig** _agreed, he let_ **Zevran** _use the sword, then he made me burn - burn Cailan’s armor and weapon. I had to_ **beg** _him for a pyre, Anders, you don’t know. If I tell him I had a dream_ **Cailan** _was the most perfect husband I could ever have…” I stare at him and shake my head, trying to breathe my tears away._

 _Anders glances at me between steps, frowning. “Some things he does disturbs me. Jealousy over a dead man is about three notches below him setting up those pictures he drew like a shrine and reminding you he’s got a_ **flawless** _you in the_ **Fade.”**

_I grimace. “He showed those to you?”_

_“No, I saw them. They were in your solar. It looked like a shrine to me. Well, he came in there and caught me looking at them, and he told me all about your perfect Fade life. He thinks it’s okay to keep wanting that because the first dream was yours. It disturbed me._ **But,”** _he nods with a glance toward the palace, “If you want to stay married…” Anders sighs and looks at me like he’s forever sorry. “I think you should tell him. Tell him about the husband you_ **need.** _He may not like it, and it’s_ **his** _choice to try it.” He shrugs. “But he’d be a fool not to try. He doesn’t want you to leave him. He’ll have to be a husband_ **you** _want for you to stay. And what happens if you don’t ever have the kids from his dreams?_ **Other** _kids, but not those ones? I assume he’ll still want you to stay even if you don’t give him perfect dream children. Which is half the reason he wants you to stay; that’s the impression I got._

 _“Don’t get me wrong - if you ever decide to leave him for good, I’ll--” Anders pulls me against him, and before I can ask, vines and roots shoot up from the ground and encase us. His lips push against mine in the dark. A shower of leaves and vines eject us from the orchard floor some paces abaft. “I’ll take you as far away as you want in a blink.” He gives me a sad smile though. “But I know you love him. And I know you keep hoping he’ll treat you better. So... I think you should tell him about the dream. It_ **may** _turn out to be simple. He_ **may** _be trying too hard, for whatever. Maybe he doesn’t_ **understand** _what you need. Maybe he needs…_ **detailed context.”** _He shrugs again. Our feet head toward the palace again. “Like Cailan waking up early to pick fresh flowers and make you breakfast, and him cleaning while you make supper. Or nightcaps and romance under the stars on your roof.” He looks at me while we walk. “Context like that.”_

_Context. Alistair said something about context when we fought. Said he needed context when I tell him things. Details._

_I don’t want to go into details of Cailan my Perfect Husband with Alistair. A long breath presses out. “I_ **hate** _having to explain everything for him to understand what I want.” Even worse to need to explain what made Dream Cailan so fucking perfect. “Why can’t ‘I want you to let me go for walks by myself’ work? How does_ **that** _need context?”_

 _His shoulders rise and fall once more. “If he doesn’t want to try, that’s his loss.” Anders huffs. “If I wasn’t a Grey Warden, he’d_ **murder** _me. Yet here I am, trying to help him keep a woman_ **I** _love_ **too.”**

_The fucking irony in my life needs to end._

_Alistair is waiting when we enter the palace. Frowning. Already staring at Anders. Disturbed. Anders utters a curse with a sigh._

_Alistair speaks before I can: “What was that thing you did?”_

_“What?” Anders breathes hard. “Carry the basket? Sit on a log?”_

_“Cut the shit. I’m not here to joke. That thing with the vines where you moved her back where you came from? What is it?” Dark and demanding._

_Anders glances at me in uncertainty. I’m not sure what to say myself. I thought Alistair would yell at us for something we had not done today. “It’s Dalish magic,” Anders answers. “Velanna taught me.”_

_“Velanna? The_ **womb** _taught you?” Alistair’s expression is hard to read._

 **“No,** _Velanna is the name of the_ **elf** _the womb came from. She was Dalish.”_

 _I breathe deep and look away from them. “Thank you both for reminding me I had one_ **incredibly** _selfish moment this year.” I can feel them glance at me._

_“And you can move others with you?” Alistair asks._

_“Obviously.”_

_“Good. Tomorrow you can show me how you plan to protect my wife underground.” He glares as if Anders is his size, not half a head shorter and six sizes smaller. He sees Anders as an equal._

_That’s always so much worse than being enemy. The Archdemon saw_ **me** _as an equal. That’s not a fun feeling; in particular when you're much smaller than your measuring opponent._

 _Anders smiles wide and empty. “Ten steps ahead of you. We’re supposed to meet for dinner first._ **All** _of us. Then we’ll show you how we’ve become a team,” he retorts._

 _“You didn’t_ **show** _for dinner. You were out with my_ **wife.”**

_Maker, I can’t handle this today._

_“I never_ **heard** _a call for dinner. Maybe you should get a bell. The one we use at the Keep works great.” Anders turns to me. His smile softens, but his eyes are sad again. “We’re sleeping here tonight. Come find me before you sleep, please. Potions.” Then Anders walks around Alistair._

_I sigh at Alistair. “You can’t be more polite?” I scold._

_“He gave it_ **right back,** _Tess.”_

 _“Alistair, you_ **chided** _him the_ **second** _we stepped inside. You_ **put** _him in a position to be defensive.”_

 _Alistair stares at me like he’s trying not to let his thoughts run away with him. “He can spend half the day with_ **my wife** _out of sight where I don’t want you in the first place, but_ **I** _don’t have the right to be upset?”_

 _“As a_ **friend,** _Alistair. Believe it or not, he’s trying to_ **help** _us._ **Us.** **You** _and_ **me.** _Maker fucking--” I sigh again and walk past him. “I’ve had a trying day. I just-” Another sigh. I need to be alone. But my fucking solar was made for Anora, not me, and it’s too late for me to sit in my garden. Too fucking dark there now._

_And… maybe I should tell Alistair about… my Perfect Husband Cailan dream. Anders hasn’t been wrong yet._

**But…** _Alistair doesn’t listen to half of what I say. Selective fucking hearing. I say ‘Alistair, I need two hours to myself without my guard’, but Alistair hears ‘Alistair, I’ve found someone better and I’m meeting him out-’ wherever I asked to go._

 _I bet if what I needed to say was in a_ **gryphon adventure book** _\- or a_ **naughty** _book - he’d read the shit out of it._

_…Me and Cailan wrote our adventure out of Thedas down. People read it like any other story and were inspired. Maybe… that’s how I can tell Alistair about the dream? About the kind of husband I need and want him to be? And reading aloud my letters to Fergus when Alistair lay in Haven worked better than trying to talk. I can't stumble over my tongue when I write. Emotions can't run away with me and make me argue for pride's sake._

_I turn to face Alistair. He’s closer than he was a moment ago. I search him for a moment. Bride of my Maker, I hope I am doing the right thing. Please please please don’t let telling him about Cailan my Perfect Dream Husband cause anymore fights or nightmares. Or worse._

_“If I write something down, will… will you read it?_ **All** _the way? And_ **not** _interrupt or ask questions until you’re done reading?_ **Please?”**

_Alistair searches me right back. I swear a flicker of hope flares. “Yes.” A sigh of relief I never expected to make comes out. “Do you want to use my study?”_

_“No. I’ll use the library.” I turn and walk again. This already feels easier._

_Maybe this time, he’ll write back. For once. And Alistair won’t hide anything anymore._

 

 

_I can’t stop pacing. Anxiety rakes my nerves more than Anders’ potions can quell. I’ve taken an additional elixir for anxiety, on top of what my daily antidepressant does, but it isn’t working yet. I’m nervous as the fucking void._

_I wrote it all down. Took me fucking_ **hours.** _The moon had already risen by the time I was done, but Alistair stayed up late waiting. I went through a whole bottle of wine and soaked handkerchief after handkerchief, but I wrote it all down. I wrote how I felt when he left me at Vigil’s Keep, I told him how I felt when I intercepted the courier. How I started to feel better when I fled to Blackmarsh, and how my boys helped me feel important again. How I felt after the miscarriage before I took the antidepressant. I told him how the antidepressant make me feel, and how I now know it was a feeling I kept running from, even with him. How his absence and his lie made me think he was never returning, and healing from that absence waned my love for him. I never intended it to, and everything that came after was never done with intention to hurt him. I thought I needed to move on or I’d die waiting, so I moved on; and only after that did he return. I only remembered how much I love him when I visited Orzammar again, but remembering is not the same as feeling in the Now. It's confusing and hurts that he expects me to feel something that disappeared. Even though I know I still love him, it's not the same love I felt before. I don't feel More Than Love, and_ **needing** _to move on when I thought he abandoned me caused More Than Love to fade. I can't just make that feeling appear from nowhere now that's he's returned._ _I penned my perfect dream about Cailan and why Anders suggested I do so. I wrote why I like Anders so much, how I'm not sure I can give him up; especially if Alistair does not treat me different. Anders is something I_ **need** _in my life right now. In as much detail as I could, I described the kind of husband I need Alistair to be to me. I wrote how much it hurt when he never tried to be that kind of husband when I’ve asked him before. I told him how scared I was when I dreamed of him dying. And I tried to explain what I felt when he scared me yesterday. I confessed I don’t really want our Fade life; I had one dream, and it wasn’t really mine, a demon created it to trap us. I want children - I sacrificed a Grey Warden for a working womb - but I don’t necessarily want the children from that dream, I’m not attached to them like Alistair is. I would be happy with any child; but if I can, I will give Alistair the daughters and son he wants. I know he loves them, so I want to try._ _My scars - exactly how I felt about them. I recalled why Morrigan didn’t like him - she thought he was sugar-coating the leash he led me on - and I admitted in ink it was easier to pretend Morrigan’s concerns didn’t also bother me. I even professed I felt pressured into being his lover at first. How he grew on me, I never loved him from day one like he did me. But by the time I fell in love with him, I was convinced I was forever broken and needed his help to survive each day. And how it hurt to ache inside yet also be afraid to leave. I wrote down what makes me angry or sad when I’m with him, and how he’s made me happy. I described the kind of_ **life** _I want, and the kind of life I want with a husband. I don't doubt he loves me, but I need him to be a husband_ **I** _need. Not a husband he thinks he_ **should** _be to protect me; there are plenty others willing to protect me._

_So many things I expect he’ll cry or throw things over. Part of me thinks it was a mistake to write so many things._

_The other part of me is desperate to amend things with the man I never meant to fall in love with. In the letter, I asked him to write the same, so we might work past our relationship faults. So we can be happy again._

_Much of what I wrote felt repetitive; things we’ve already discussed. But I’ve never felt heard in whole; and I wrote so. The list felt endless as my quill scratched, and it felt like freedom. A chance to be understood by a person who, until a few months ago, knew me better than anyone. A ray of hope for my marriage since I felt abandoned. At last. And at least Alistair was willing to read it. Doesn’t stop my anxiety, but it seems my best chance. Nothing else has worked._

_I’m so fucking nervous of his reply I can’t stop pacing. The boys went to sleep before I finished writing. I imagine Justice and Sigrun think we’re wasting time here. I don’t even know if I should stay awake waiting for Alistair to reply. I wrote over twenty pages; he may not finish reading them tonight. But I can’t stop pacing. I’ve walked the maze of desks and chairs and sofas and tables in the library so many times I don’t need to look where I step anymore. I see the light on in Alistair’s study from the windows but I can't see him. It’s not calming my nerves one bit._

_I’m over-thinking this. Maker, please. Quiet my nerves_ **please!** _Maker, Andraste, whoever is listening, please! I can’t try to sleep this off. I can’t even sit down for one sodding second! My pulse moves so fast it might be pure tea; that caffeinated stuff Nathaniel says makes me irritable since I’ve taken the antidepressant._

_It takes me a moment to recognize the buzz heating my veins. It wasn’t only my pulse. Taint. It’s someone’s Taint. I don’t think anything in my pulse has its own footsteps._

_The knob on the east door clicks as it turns. Alistair steps in. My breath catches. The door closes behind him._

_Done? He’s done reading already?_

_Must be. His eyes are pink, cheeks look raw. He’s been crying._

_Alistair stands by the door and watches me. Hesitates with his hands in his pockets. His hesitancy pauses my feet; it’s about time._

_I’m not sure if I should speak. He looks like he’s trying to phrase things in his head. If I speak first, will I make him forget something? What if it’s something I want to hear?_

_Alistair wets his lips and takes a silent, deep breath._

_"Will you marry me?”_

_I stare at my husband. “What?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	29. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving to play Regent lands _Uncle_ Teagan in the middle of Tess and Alistair's marital problems again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Theogony, by Jo Blankenburg](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNossFNWysA)  
> [The Thrill, by Nero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koeW4g8Y-lg)

_“Thank the Maker!”_ Pádraig hurried to meet the man entering the palace with two guards. “It’s _about time_ you showed. ‘Haps _you_ can set their heads on straight! We’re set to _leave_ in four days and he’s _shut_ himself in his study and _she_ stormed off! My _fucking head_ is done in!”

Anders moved from the kitchen to the doorway and watched the General fluster himself like a headless maid.

“Pleasant morning, Pádraig. Good to see you, _also._ I’m glad to know living halfway across the country in a royal palace hasn’t softened your concord of me.” The noble pulled off his gloves and let servants take his outerwear. A noble who grew up noble. He stopped a maid from leaving. “A hard mint and fresh meat. Now,” he turned back to Pádraig. “What is happening that you could not wait until I made my rump comfortable in the study?”

 _"Them._ I can't take much more of this. _A whole fucking drape_ on _fire!"_ Pádraig seemed exasperated. “And that’s just _today!_ We’re not half-past morning yet!”

“Way to strive for discretion, _General._ You know, I don’t think the markets _heard_ you clear enough, you might want to say it louder,” Anders said. Tess' magic was a secret at the royal palace; Maker forbid the Queen be special. Pádraig turned with a glare.

“Shove off, Anders. Don’t you have a--” Pádraig almost kicked himself. “Nevermind.”

Anders couldn’t help a grin. He swore Pádraig almost said something about the Queen. “What was that?” He tried to hold an innocent facade.

“Discretion, eh? Let me guess, Alistair and Tesslyn are at it again?” the nobleman asked.

“By _it,_ if you mean a heated engagement, then yes,” Anders said.

“Heated-?” The nobleman then sighed and shook his head with a wince. “It is too early for this. Double my hard mint!” he called out.

Anders was tempted to laugh. This man wasn’t like most the other nobles he saw, so far. “Not _that_ kind of engagement.”

“Way to strive for discretion, mage.” For a General, Pádraig was quite juvenile sometimes.

“Mage?” the noble perked up.

Anders straightened with a wry smile. “Yes, I am _that_ mage.”

 _“That_ mage?” The noble’s eyes roamed. Anders felt like livestock appraised for supper.

“Don’t fall for his tricks. He’ll ride your backside in _minutes_ if you do,” Pádraig warned.

“Oh, another one. Zevran finally has company, then. Good for him. I daresay the poor boy needs to settle down.”

Pádraig snorted. Anders tried to maim him with his eyes. “You’re not this brave when _Tess_ is around. I wonder why that is?” But Anders already knew. Same reason Pádraig never threatened Nathaniel when Tess was around.

 _“Tess?_ Oh, now you’ve piqued my interest. What’s your name, then, mage?”

Anders stared for a moment. “Everyone calls me Anders.”

“But what is your _name?”_

“Not until I trust you enough.” Anders shook his head.

“Don’t play it. He’s trying to yank ye for one. It adds to his sex appeal, ye ken. Thinks being a Grey Warden hoists him above common courtesy. You’ll never get a name out of him.”

“Good heavens, Pádraig, you sound like he declared he’d had better!” The nobleman looked at Pádraig like something was wrong.

It was Anders’ turn to snort. He didn’t bother hiding a smirk either. “Once again, Pádraig, you’re wrong. Zevran has all the attention around here, not me. And _Tess_ knows my name. Don’t bother asking her, though, she still doesn’t trust you.”

“There again with _Tess._ Come! Walk me to my room, Warden.”

“No, thank you. You’re _far_ too familiar with Pádraig, which means following you to your quarters is the _opposite_ of where I should head.”

“Nonsense. I only wish to talk. Come!” he repeated. “You may call me Teagan, I am Arl of Redcliffe. I will play Regent while -”

 _“Teagan?”_ Anders hadn’t meant to interrupt. He knew that name. Tess mentioned him. He was the one she ran to for help when Loghain poisoned her. He also camped with King Cailan out past the orchards, where Tess now sat.

“See? No manners.” Pádraig shook his head.

“That’s enough, Pádraig. Keep it up and someone is bound to think you’re in love,” Teagan joked again with a straight face. Anders snorted anyway trying not to laugh. “I’ll catch up in a while, Pádraig. Come, Anders, I insist.” Teagan motioned as he began walking. The man strutted like he’d spent years mastering a walk to impress nobles.

Anders cursed in his head before falling in stride. He stayed well out of reach, though. “If you mean to lecture me, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn. There’s a whole regiment _and_ a King _and_ a Teyrn _all_ lined up waiting for me to retire from the Wardens so they have the authority to _kill_ me.” Odd how enough threats made one numb enough to sound overjoyed at such notion.

“No need,” Teagan said. “Tesslyn chose you, did she not? She does not allow _just anyone_ to call her Tess.”

Anders hesitated. Teagan studied him while they walked. “In a sense. You could say I was a _gift_ from her _husband._ Alistair _tricked_ her into recruiting me.” Teagan smirked at Anders’ words. “The _choosing_ came _much_ later,” Anders admitted. Teagan gestured towards a staircase through another corridor. “So what’s it to be? Dungeons? Templars?” Anders guessed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, young man. Tesslyn does not let her heart out so easily. If she adores you, that is more than enough for me.”

Anders stared, taken off guard, “Really? No threats? No demands?”

“Not a one. I’m quite literal when I say she does not let her heart out. It takes a great deal for her to trust anyone. If you are good enough for Tesslyn, you are more than welcome at my house. I must say,” Teagan huffed as he took steps two at a time, “The ridiculous rumors from Franderel’s house don’t do you justice. I expected a blood mage, not a Grey Warden. I also heard something about _warts_ and a demonic cackle, though I admit I’m slightly disappointed you lack either. I could _use_ a good laugh here. The palace is dreadfully dull sometimes.”

Anders wasn’t sure what to say. This man trusted him because Anders was allowed to call Tess _Tess_ instead of her full name? He also had a sense of humor the palace lacked. Anders leaned toward liking this Arl. It was becoming clear why Tess ran to this man for help when Loghain poisoned her womb.

“I hear Nathaniel Howe is a Warden, as well. How is that coming along? No attempted murders yet? Or too many to count?”

Anders shrugged and followed him into another hall. “Nathaniel’s a good friend. I’m always with him or Tess, usually both. He’s off with other hunters right now to catch tomorrow’s supper.”

“That's a relief. When I heard he’d returned, I feared for Tesslyn. _Rendon_ Howe was a _vile_ man; Tesslyn’s father Bryce was of the few who liked him. I’m glad to hear Nathaniel is not his father. And here we are.” He dug a key from a pocket inside his coat. “You’ll have to forgive my quarters, it’s been some time since I’ve been here and the decorations never change. I happen to like my tastes, but some call me eccentric. Where are the Wardens sleeping these days? In the east wing like before?”

“Erm… yes. Sort of...” Anders hesitated as Teagan threw open the doors. The man insinuated the room was dull and dusty, but the plants Anders saw and smelled were nothing of the sort. He peeked his head in. Tropical plants like the ones dotting the palace, only many more. Reed baskets, milk nut shells made into candle holders. Dried flowers scented the room with sweet comfort. “This is your room?” He had not guessed from walking through the hall. He couldn’t smell the aroma from the other side. “How come other rooms don’t look like this?”

Teagan grinned. “They choose to decorate how they desire. However, if I wished to be called Domestic Designer Teagan, I would transform these halls to my heart’s content.”

“Domestic Designer has a certain ring to it.” Anders sniffed. The air was fresher here. It smelled like _life._ Like a private tropical mountain home.

Teagan laughed. “Indeed. I’ll need to remake my image in a few years anyway to stay ahead of the crowd.”

“Tess would like this. At least I think. She hates her solar and loves her garden, but she can’t bring that inside. I bet she would like some in her solar. Where do you find these plants?”

“Imports from Par Vollen. I’m quite fond of this atmosphere. If you like this, you should visit my home someday. Tell me, Anders.” Anders looked over to see Teagan standing at a desk holding out a glass of clear drink. “I’ve heard the rumors. I don’t doubt Alistair has. It can’t be comfortable sleeping in his home.”

“It’s not.” Anders hesitated before striding. He almost expected the palace behind him to vanish and the rest of a tropical jungle to appear. “But it’s best if I stay. Tess takes… well, I’m her doctor as well as…”

“Someone she cares about?” Teagan finished for him. Anders stared for a moment. This was strange. He was not used to acceptance from anyone but the Wardens who’d seen what Alistair’s absence did to Tess.

“That’s a kind way to put it.” He wet his mouth before reaching for the glass. Scents of citrus and vodka reached his nose. “We tried to stay at her family’s… manor; she calls it a manor, but it’s almost as big as _this_ place,” he muttered, glancing around. Teagan smiled. “But she’s had… a hard time sleeping since we’ve arrived. They both have. It’s best if I can stay where she is. I have access to more stores here, also. I can better whip up potions when she needs them.”

 _“They both have,”_ Teagan echoed. “You refer to her and Alistair?” Anders nodded with a noise before swallowing the drink in his mouth. “I’d like to discuss something quite personal, then. You see, I _care_ for Tesslyn. She has been in and out of my house since she was fourteen, and her mother brought her to visit often as a child. As I have no children of my own, I consider Tesslyn as such. Nothing is more disheartening than seeing a loved one cry to you for help.”

“Something we have in common, then.”

“Oh? You have children?”

“No. Tess cries to me for help. A _lot._ It’s why I’m here in her husband’s palace and not where I am most comfortable. It’s best if I go where she is.”

“So you love her?”

Anders stared again. “Yes.”

“Why the hesitation?”

“I grew up in the _Circle._ They don’t teach how to express _feelings_ there. Tess is my… first experience for a _lot_ of things. It’s harder say I lo- _love_ someone than it looks in books.”

“Fair enough. And what of Alistair? What’s your stance on your situation with Tesslyn? Pádraig seems overwhelmed by them. You called their argument _heated.”_

Anders hesitated. “She loves him.” He used the vodka as an excuse to hesitate. “I believe she loves both of us. But he hurt her badly and returned demanding she act like he never did, and he _keeps_ hurting her. I’m _trying_ to _help_ her… _them.”_

“You’re trying to help them reunite? And what does that mean for you and Tesslyn, then?” Teagan seemed to expect something far worse.

Anders pauses again. “Whatever she needs it to mean. She was a _friend_ first. She didn’t start out my… We didn’t start out like her and Alistair did.”

“You didn’t start out married? That’s good.” It sounded like a joke.

Anders winced. “That sounds _horrible,_ if I’m honest.”

“It can be. It is the way of politics, unfortunately. _Few_ nobles get to choose their spouse. Marriages are often arranged since birth.”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to _ease_ into it. I had a hard enough time letting my guard down for a _kiss.”_

Teagan chortled. "I'm in mind with you. I'm not eager for marriage myself. I’ve observed enough of them to know few are enviable." He sipped his vodka with a quiet smack of his mouth. "You say you are her doctor. Is there something wrong with the medic here?"

"Erm… no. I don't know? I'm _everyone's_ doctor, in a sense. Well, the Wardens’ doctor. Except Alistair. He sort of… _left_ the Wardens when he left Tess behind. And _lied_ to her. _And_ didn’t return when he promised.” Anders paused when he noticed Teagan staring. “It’s a dark time for _all_ of us when our Commander grieves.” He cleared his throat and swallowed more alcohol than he should have at once. “But the palace medic-” he coughed “- she wasn't with us in Wending Wood. She wasn't there for Tess' surgery. I’ve just taken over, as far as Tess is concerned. I think it’s safe to say I know her best, now, as far as doctors go."

Arl Teagan stared distracted while refilling his drink. _"Surgery?"_ He almost didn’t stop pouring in time.

 _Shit._ “Alistair… didn’t mention that?”

“He did not. Care to explain?”

Anders stared for a moment. Tess would not appreciate him divulging such private information. He shoved the glass to his mouth. Diverting would only last until his glass emptied.

 

 

“My dear girl.”

Tesslyn whirled from a sitting log Teagan had not used since before Cailan died. “Teagan?” If she hadn’t been already crying, she was now. Face fallen in lines of sadness and hope, she ran to him. Much like when they were reunited after her time in the Deep Roads. Though this time, she was scar-less. Teagan did not have time to study her face before she fell into his open arms. A sob rattled through her and shook him. A pain far deeper than her skin.

A noise escaped Teagan. He squeezed her against him, trying to mask his own glassy eyes with a smile. “My darling girl,” he murmured. More a daughter to him than anything, even before she fled to his home to escape Loghain.

“I thought Fergus was coming. I didn’t kn- I didn’t know it was you.” Tesslyn clung like she had not expected to see him again.

“It’s my turn. I only wish you could stay. I feel like I hardly see you anymore.” Teagan pulled back to see her face. A faint trace where the large double-knot used to spoil her cheek. A sigh of relief rose and sank his chest. He was glad to see her like she wanted to be. She'd tried hard to pretend the scars never bothered her. He felt grateful on her behalf, though he already knew her own delight at seeing her old self back. Teagan cupped her face with another smile. “Look at you. I heard you’ve had _quite_ the adventures.” He moved a thumb over the missing large scar.

A noise between a sob and a huff flew out. “You could say that.”

“And now you’re here visiting our old camp. I wasn’t aware you knew where it was.”

Tesslyn made another noise. “Cailan described it perfectly down to how many feet from the wall. I think now... he wanted me to come here with him.”

Teagan couldn’t help another smile. “I’m glad to have someone to remember him with. Speaking of which,” Teagan released her and stepped back to pull the bottle from the sack at his hip. “Your doctor prescribed this.” Sadness he did not expect when he placed the milk fruit rum in her hands. “And he says to send him a signal if you’d like a ride back. Whatever that means.”

Tesslyn’s face fell again. Guilt, a twinge like she expected him to yell at her. “You spoke to Anders?”

“Don’t give me that look, young lady. Come, help me crack this open.” Teagan took her by the arm and returned her to the old, cold campsite. “Yes, I’ve spoken to the fellow. He seems like a sensible, perceptive man. Gentle nature.” Teagan sat near her and yanked on the cork. “How long have you been with him?”

Tesslyn cringed in shame.

“I’m not here to reprimand you, Tesslyn. Here, relieve me of this, please.” He held out the bottle. Teagan watched her reach over with her head down. The pout did not disappear even as she drank. “He’s been a Warden for half a year now. Did you know him before?”

She shook her head. “Al- … Alistair tricked me into recruiting him.”

“So I’ve heard. And now he’s surprised his cunning kicked him in the seat. I tried to speak to him, in fact, before I came out here. Alistair’s trying to drink himself to death. Poor boy will run out of drink by sundown. He’s the luck of Theirin blood _and_ your Taint, in this case. ”

A noise of scorn and a deeper pout muffled at the bottle mouth. “He needs to fucking _think_ while he’s in there.”

“I may be of assistance with that matter before you leave for this expedition. And I have many questions for you-” Tesslyn peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “-including this surgery you had-”

“He _told_ you about that?” she winced.

“Who, Anders? No. He mentioned you had one, but only because I asked why he replaced the palace medic. Don’t worry, he was quite adamant. Your mage insisted it was not his place to divulge the details. Right now, however...” Teagan accepted the bottle for a long drink before handing it back. “I am curious why you are here in _Cailan’s_ camp with his favorite drink?”

Tesslyn shrank into her knees. Even from this angle, Teagan saw sorrow distort her face. “I _dreamed_ of him, Teagan,” tears broke her voice.

“Of Cailan?”

She nodded. “I dreamed I ran away with him. Like he always asked me.”

 _“Oh, Tesslyn.”_ His spirits sank for her and his dead nephew. The boy had been head-over-heels for Tesslyn since they met as children. Cailan spent his whole life waiting for her mind to change.

Tesslyn spun a heartbreaking tale. She and Cailan rode away on his horse, and left Thedas behind. She left out details - Teagan guessed romance - other than _Perfect,_ a _Home,_ a _Life,_ _Growing Old_ with Cailan. “I loved him so much!” she sobbed. “Then I woke up. And it was-- it wasn’t-- _a whole lifetime with him, Teagan!”_ She awoke and found herself in Alistair’s bed. This camp was all she had to remember Cailan by. The camp and the drink. “I remember it all but it’s not even real! And I can’t even- I can’t even apologize!”

_If only Cailan were alive to hear this._

Before Teagan could offer condolences on a love his dead nephew waited a lifetime to receive, Tesslyn spilled her heart more. She did not believe she was meant to marry Alistair, now. Their current rift seemed incorrigible. She explained in greater detail everything the mage said, emphasizing feelings and fears. She explained her surgery, and the sacrifice it cost. Confessed she felt she was meant to run away with Cailan because she’d been poisoned and he sterilized himself; they could have built a new life together with no fears, no expectations to fail. She wished he was alive now to love her, and if he was, she would run with him, be his wife, and never look back. _“He was perfect for me and I never saw it till now.”_ Tesslyn recalled healing with her new womb, then falling for Anders. The mage filled holes in her life in ways Alistair refused even after she healed. She thought Alistair feared her new _magic._ Tesslyn cried again recalling a miscarriage caused by fighting with Fergus. Potions for depression prescribed after allowed her to mourn and think clearly for the first time in her life. At last she had a way forward for herself, only for Alistair to keep dragging her down.

Bitterness took hold as she said Alistair was not content lying to her and abandoning her and letting Pádraig’s guard ensure she stay suicidal rather than tell her the truth. She’d written all her fears and her needs down on over twenty pages and asked Alistair to do the same because she was tired of the nightmares that fed on their fights… only for Alistair to come in and propose because he’d never done so before. According to Tess, Alistair expected a proposal to change her mind. _“To start fresh,”_ Tesslyn recited. Alistair refused to write back so they could communicate without emotions and pride overwhelming. He expected to start their relationship over _as if new_ without first knowing how to work through the same differences. Alistair expected _Starting Over_ to work like magical healing. Yet he wanted to start out _still married._

Her words pained Teagan. He’d not known any of this. He hurt for the young girl who ran to his house years ago ranting and screaming, then cried and begged to stay. The prior extent of knowledge was assuming Loghain raped her. Learning she’d been _poisoned_ made half the time protecting her feel wasteful; _if Cailan had known…_ Worse yet was learning Tess needed a new womb altogether and sacrificed an elf for one. _Maker, such a disaster._ Teagan was also not aware Tess absorbed the Archdemon’s mana. It was hard to believe even when she demonstrated magic she could not perform prior to killing the monster. He was disappointed neither her or Alistair asked him to mediate, though more so Alistair begged Tesslyn to return then refused her. Alistair had told Teagan he only _kept_ her from the drama at Jainen, not lied outright and did not contact her. Tesslyn at least sought her new friends for help. Alistair seemed to make things worse with each new attempt Tess now made to repair her marriage.

But Teagan felt he already knew what troubled Alistair. During the Blight, Alistair grew dependent on Tesslyn needing him. When Teagan met Alistair in Redcliffe, Tesslyn struggled with a lyrium addiction. Then, Tesslyn needed help staying sober, and Alistair's conditioning worked. It gave Alistair purpose to end the Blight. As the Blight endured, and as their paths kept crossing, Teagan observed Alistair changing ways to domineer over Tess. She seemed to enjoy her submissive position in Alistair’s life, so Teagan did not interfere. But Alistair always had one problem: he _expected_ old ways to work in new circumstances. As a King, Alistair excelled in creating wealth for his country - and restricted nobles for not conforming to new rules. As a husband whose wife underwent spiritual metamorphosis toward the end of the Blight, and after when she realized she survived killing the Archdemon... for the new Tesslyn that emerged from the old, broken, dependent shell, Alistair’s old ways did not work. And now, like during the Blight, it upset Alistair his old ways no longer sufficed, and he took it out on Tesslyn instead of trying something new. The King could not seem to live by his own rules. Teagan saw the source and motivation for Tesslyn taking a lover without trying.

Alistair regarded Tesslyn's queenship little different than how Anora regarded Cailan’s kingship. An occupation best left to those who had energy to fight every day. Tesslyn’s marriage was nothing more than a job, now.

As every other Queen in history. Tesslyn had joined the ranks of social normality at last. Unlike Alistair, she had never wanted it.

Getting through to Alistair would be a harder task. It was always easier for Alistair to punish others for not adapting to change than admit his own faults.

“If my _parents_ were alive-” Tesslyn gasped in attempt to stop crying, “- _father_ would _lecture_ while _mother_ beat _sense_ into him. I can’t-- _I can’t do this Teagan!_ I can’t be his wife! I _can’t live_ with him! He _left_ me and _made_ me survive without him, but now he’s _mad_ at me for _doing_ so! _He made_ me be Warden Commander, and now he’s _upset_ with me for _embracing_ it. What did he expect when he ditched me at the Keep as a distraction _knowing_ I had duties _as the Commander_ to fulfill?”

Teagan sat pensive for a moment. No doubt she was right. Eleanor Mac Eanraig the Sea Wolf would not let a single soul, King or otherwise, cage her daughter like a wild beast. Teyrn Bryce Cousland once castigated the Empress of Orlais for forcing Tess into a scullion; until he learned Tess _chose_ a commoner life. Kingship had gone too far to Alistair’s head. He was a fine King _to the people,_ but he did not treat his wife the _same_ as his people. Somewhere along the line, Alistair forgot he meant to care for his country _to care for his wife._

“This letter you wrote him...” Teagan leaned forward on his knees and exhaled aloud. “May I read it? I have been able to get through Alistair in the past. I understand if you wish me not to see it. It sounds as though you wrote an intimate plea. I will not insist.”

Tesslyn shrugged with a sniffle. “If he hasn’t burnt it already.”

“I will be disappointed if he has.” Teagan sighed. “All right, young lady. Give me the afternoon. I cannot make guarantees, but I will attempt to breach that thick skull of his.”

 

Alistair refused to open his study. Teagan had to demand the master key from the head of staff just to get Tesslyn’s letter. When he pushed the door open, broken liquor bottles littered the room. Area rugs and end tables looked like they’d been upturned and fixed by a drunk. Alistair spoke no words as Teagan asked for Tesslyn’s letter, choosing to glare into the void instead. Teagan only sighed; his nephew already seemed decided.

He was not prepared for Tesslyn’s letter. Twenty-three pages, yet Teagan did not expect the exposed soul that bled from each sentence. The detailed dream of Cailan moved him to tears; he pictured his late nephew and Tess as though viewing the dream in person. Steam all but blew through his ears as he read Tesslyn became suicidal and her guard _only spectated._ The admission of enduring Alistair because Tesslyn had nowhere to go _and in duty_ cut Teagan deep. He’d not known things were so dire. He should have made it clear Tesslyn was welcome at his home even as Queen.

The letter covered the mage, as well. Teagan took Anders aside and learned his perspective on what Tess wrote. He met with Oghren, scolded Pádraig for lying to his Queen and letting her depress, caught up with Nathaniel. Learned of the relationship between Nathaniel, Tess, and Anders, and how Alistair reacted. Even the possessed corpse and the little Legionnaire had opinions, though their concerns pertained to their Commander’s ability to function on their mission.

If anything, the latter needed attention. Tesslyn and Alistair planned to clear a dwarven thaig overrun with darkspawn. The last time they went into the Deep Roads, both lost their minds to some extent. They would die for certain if they _began_ their expedition broken and in tears.

By the time he understood Tess’ position, Teagan was ashamed so much went on for so long without a single letter for help. Tesslyn was one of the strongest women he’d known. He couldn’t believe she chose to leave her fate to another, even out of love. More so, Teagan could not believe Tesslyn had exposed her entirety to Alistair - as Alistair wanted her to - yet Alistair rebuked her for it. If Teagan could not get through to Alistair, the two would be the first monarchs ever in Ferelden to divorce. And under the surface, both would be miserable in one way or another the rest of their separate lives.

Teagan needed to play a hard hand. No more nice Uncle.

Alistair did not respond well to Tough Love in such moments. Yet it was what best affected the boy in the long run.

Teagan hoped it did not end his relationship with Alistair. While he called him _Nephew,_ Alistair felt more like _Son._ He did _not_ want to choose between _Son_ and _Daughter._

He already needed to get drunk.

 _The irony of it all,_ he laughed to himself as he strolled toward Alistair’s study. Dragging his feet. He’d chosen not to start his own family to _avoid_ the drama he’d seen from other noble families. But here he was: Uncle Teagan, wrapped up in family problems again. Preparing to sort out his sort-of-Son-or-Nephew, defend his sort-of-Daughter, and drown himself in the very drama he’d tried to avoid by not having children in the first place.

As expected, Alistair was stubborn. Bathing in self-pity, focusing on Tesslyn’s mistakes and ignoring his own; another reason why she sought her needs elsewhere. Teagan’s sort of-nephew was not happy for a serious talk.

Alistair stared at him. _“How_ can you _condone_ this, Teagan? She’s - she’s _sleeping_ with another man when she’s _married!_ To _me!_ The _King!_ And neither she _or_ that mage are trying to hide it! If they were commoners, they’d be _lashed_ in public! The _Chantry_ would judge them! But _I’m_ supposed to just _sit back_ and _let_ her -- let _some other man_ **_fuck_ ** _my wife?!”_

 _“Heavens,_ Alistair, you act as if she is the first person in history to seek her needs outside marriage. Even the _Chantry_ understands _marriage is business_ and overlooks affairs. _You_ are the product of an affair, don’t forget. ”

“What is wrong with her seeking her needs from _me?_ I’m her _husband!_ She should expect _me_ to fulfill her needs!”

“And what needs _are_ you fulfilling?” Teagan asked.

“She _doesn’t let_ me, Teagan! Aren’t you listening? She goes to that _mage_ instead! She doesn’t even want to be _friends_ with me, she has _Howe_ for that!”

“You sound jealous, Alistair. So she has friends now?” Teagan shrugged. _“Good._ It’s _been_ two years since she’s had her own. And her only friends _before_ were _forced_ upon her out of need for assistance to end a Blight, I might add. _Since_ you ended the Blight, Tesslyn’s friends have all been _your_ friends. She has none of her own.”

“Horse shit! She has _Eevie,_ Benneit’s chocolate-maker wife. And her handmaiden Blaire!”

Teagan stared speechless for a moment. “Tesslyn has a _handmaiden,_ as is customary of every noblewoman, and the _only wife_ of her entire private guard? _Alistair.”_ If his face didn’t show disappointment, his voice did.

“Do you know how many women there are around the palace?” Alistair made a noise of disdain.

Teagan sighed. _“Servants,_ Alistair. Their _jobs_ are to clean your house and fill your plates. Those are not friends. _Friendly_ and _Friend_ do not share the same meaning.”

“She’s never complained before,” Alistair muttered.

“You do not let your wife have her _own_ friends, and you are jealous _one_ of your friends have become better friends with _her,_ now.” He sighed again. “Tesslyn has friends outside your friends _at last._ This is _good,_ Alistair. You _need_ separate friends. You have different personalities, you don’t even like half the same _foods._ Why should _friends_ be any different? _Tesslyn_ does not need the kind of friends _you_ need.”

 _“How can you advocate her sleeping around on me, Teagan?!”_ Alistair cried.

“She is _not_ sleeping around on you. She has _one consistent_ lover. You are unable or unwilling to fulfill her needs, but she is stuck in a marriage she cannot escape. She is doing as any other in her position would. It is her _motive_ I am advocating. Her _reasoning._ From what I see, this is an escalated version of all your other quarrels. Alistair, you sit here holed up in pity because you think, as with all your other fights, it is out of your control and you want your wife to _want_ to come back. But I see no incentive for her to. Tell me, nephew: if Tesslyn left _you_ somewhere you did not wish to be, and she did not write or return when she promised, then you discovered she hid a diplomatic conference from you, would _you_ not be in _her_ place right now? Would _your_ love not wane under suspicion? Would you not feel she’d _abandoned_ you?”

 _“It wouldn’t happen!_ I wouldn’t _let_ her go off by herself!” Alistair snapped.

“Ah.” Teagan’s head fell in a prominent nod. “So, _you_ may do so, but _she_ is not allowed? That is what you are saying?”

Alistair stared, frowning so hard he saw his own brows. “It was to _protect_ her! Can you imagine what would happen if she saw Celene declare war?”

Teagan hesitated to study him. His chest puffed up with deep breath, shifting how his legs held his weight. “Tesslyn would allow the time it took to draw her dagger for Celene recall the declaration. Then the matter would be over. Ferelden would own Orlais, and we would conquer the Tevinter Imperium with the largest number of elves ever recorded in a single war.”

“If you came in here to make fun of me, turn around and ride back to Redcliffe!” Alistair glared so hard his jaw hurt. He couldn’t believe this was happening; on top of everything else!

“I make fun of _no_ one, Alistair. That is the truth of what would happen. Had Celene declared war, Tesslyn would not give the Empress the chance to betray her again. But Celene did _not_ declare war. In fact, the situation was not so dire. The chance of Orlais declaring war over unrest on a single, _small,_ co-existing island was paltry. As I understand it, Celene made herself present at Jainen to show Ferelden and Orlais she takes our concerns to heart and is reasonable. She did as any good ruler should.” Teagan stared like he read through Alistair’s skull. “You _left_ Tesslyn where she did not want to be and you _lied._ Alistair, you are a _clever_ man. You _had_ to know there would be repercussions to that.”

Alistair’s eyes dropped and darted. His nostrils flared with heavy breath. “No. I thought I would be _in and out_ of there, Teagan. I thought I would be _back_ in time. I thought she would brush it off and laugh at Alfstanna for suspecting the Orlesian Empress in her yard.”

“Yet you did not write Tesslyn when you learned otherwise. I’m told you wrote _Pádraig_ instead, but not Tesslyn. _Worse,_ you instructed the courier _not_ to mention the letter to Tesslyn.”

“I _did_ write!” Alistair protested. _How_ could his uncle stand here and reprimand _him_ without having all the facts? It was _not right!_ “I wrote her _every day!_ I sent a _bulk_ of letters when I arrived at Highever and _another_ when I returned _because_ I was already a month late! I wrote my wife _every fucking day,_ Teagan! I _missed_ her! I missed her so much I _couldn’t sleep!”_

“Tesslyn is unaware of this. Why have you not told her?”

“Do you think she’d _believe_ me? She’d already made up her mind to leave me by the time I found her!”

“Alistair, she was _waiting_ for letters. You were _one month and two weeks late_ returning to her. For _certain_ she awaited word from you. Did you ever think these _might_ have been words she needed to hear when you found her in the Woods? It is not unlikely bandits caught the couriers, or worse, though that should have made telling her _all_ the more crucial.” Teagan stared. Alistair frowned again and fought a pout with rigid lips and glassy eyes. “That is one of her concerns, Alistair. You do not tell her what she _needs_ to hear. You withhold information from her because you think _‘What’s the point’_ or _‘Let’s not frighten Tesslyn’._ But she survived unimaginable horrors during the Blights; _at your side,_ dare I need remind you. Nothing on the surface compares to those horrors. She is capable of enduring much more than you fear, nephew. Hearing you wrote her every day may have been the _exact_ words she needed when you found her. _Now_ it may be too late. _Now_ that information may not be worth anything to her.”

“You are so full of _useless_ fucking talk today.”

“I am trying to _help_ you, Alistair,” Teagan assured, though it did not seem Alistair wanted assurance. It seemed Alistair wanted a solution delivered for him. “You have many people here trying to help you reconcile with your wife. Many of us have seen you both at your worst and know how it destroyed your best. You and Tesslyn survived a _Blight_ together, nephew. It would be a shame for these little lies you concoct _in her best interest_ to be what ends your life together. I do not think you could look at another woman and expect her to love through your bad days when _Tesslyn survived_ your _worst_ days. No other could love you as _deep_ as Tesslyn does. I am not saying the Blight was your fault. _You_ know the moments I speak of.

“Which brings me to Tesslyn’s concerns. By denying her first request for you to _write_ a response, you only prove you are unwilling to compromise. Marriage, whether in love or not, is _always_ a business and cannot last without compromise. You _see_ she is struggling, Alistair. Why let her _continue_ struggling? _Why_ make her struggle _harder?_ She’s in a position now to stand up for herself and she is _taking_ it, but from her letter and your reaction, it sounds like you are unhappy with her questioning you _period._ That is _not_ the More Than Love you insisted you had. What I see now is reminiscent of her trying to leave you before the Landsmeet, when she took back her family’s home. Do you recall? She wanted time alone, yet she was not granted it. She wanted you to speak of your troubles instead of ignore her, yet you did not speak for days. I was _there,_ Alistair, I know you remember as well as I. This seems a _pattern_ in your relationship. As soon as she has room to move and steps out to breathe, you grow upset with her. That is not fair to either of you. It creates unnecessary strain. The fact this time it induced a _miscarriage_ is _most_ troubling.”

“A fight with Fergus caused it, not me.”

“A fight Fergus fought on your behalf with the same arguments _you_ make to her. I have heard everyone’s account. I do not accuse without basis, Alistair. You made quite a fuss over those dream children of yours. You aren’t afraid of inducing _more_ miscarriages by _continuing_ this unnecessary drama?”

“If she has anymore, they aren’t mine. Why should I care about _his_ children?”

“Alistair, I am disappointed in you,” his voice dropped. Teagan stared him down. “Whether they are the children of another man or not, it is _still Tesslyn_ who miscarries. That is the _woman_ you claim to _More Than Love,_ and you wish her _more_ miscarriages because a child _might not be yours?_ That is _tremendous_ pain and suffering. _Not_ to mention the pain and suffering she endured to get a _working womb_ ** _for you!_** The Alistair I met during the Blight tried his hardest to _keep_ her from pain.”

“Well, I’m _not_ the Alistair you met during the Blight! I’m _King_ now. And you can thank _Tess_ for that!”

Teagan put his hands on the desk and leaned to stare at Alistair eye-level. _“Wrong. King_ is nothing more than a _job._ You were _educated_ to become King, you were _not transformed_ into a _different person._ Your education included learning to stand up for _your rights,_ which provided you confidence in asserting laws _through_ your voice. You memorized _court_ procedures and the names of your fellow nobles. _All_ you have changed is your _level of education._ You have _always_ been Alistair. By blaming _Tesslyn_ for your stubbornness, you are only augmenting the rift between you two. No matter what she feels for that mage, she loves _you enough_ to _work things out_ with you. You may disagree with her affection for the mage; that is your right. But I have spoken to the man, and _right_ now in Tesslyn’s life, when _you_ refuse to be the husband she needs, _he_ is compensating. _She needs_ him right now because _her husband neglects_ her. When she last attempted to leave you, I spoke of this _same_ thing: _fix Alistair_ so you can be the husband _your wife needs._ You need not change into a different person, Alistair. You need not wear a disguise or answer to another name for this to happen. Repairing relationships starts with simple gestures. Like writing to communicate when talk has failed. No one else can make you treat her different.

“Your wife shared potent information with you that only makes her _more_ vulnerable to any pain you deliver. You broke her heart, and she _further_ ripped the wound open to be _completely honest_ with you. You are _behaving like a child_ by _salting_ it at every turn. You are _not_ showing her you wish to be her husband. You are _not_ showing her you want her to move back home. You have _removed_ her essence from the palace and you are _refusing_ to let her back in. This is _not_ her home when _you_ refuse to let her back in your life. It is not fair she must conform to _you,_ yet _you_ refuse to conform to _her._ Until you reform how you treat little hiccups in your relationship, you cannot chastise her for seeking what she needs elsewhere. And _if_ a child comes from her seeking her needs outside marriage because her husband refuses, so be it. It will be the Maker’s will, it is not up to _you_ to decide so. Wishing death upon another man’s child makes you no better than Loghain. If you want your wife back, _show_ her you are _attempting_ to be the man _she needs._ Do _not_ let your pride interfere. If you choose not to, she will _continue_ seeking her needs outside her marriage. And it will be unfortunate for you both, because divorce does not happen in Ferelden. You know this. You are dooming _both_ of you if you _continue_ to _refuse to compromise._

“If you give her _reason_ to leave the mage, she _will._ But you must _exercise_ that reason. _You_ must make the attempt. You cannot expect _him_ to stop being _himself,_ and you cannot expect _Tesslyn_ to _forever hope for a better day_ with you. She has _already_ done that, and now she is _miserable_ with the man she married. You are being _selfish,_ Alistair. Do not forget you were her husband _before_ you became King, and do _not_ forget being King does _not_ prevent you from attending to your wife. If you can make love every night, you have time to repair your marriage. Start showing her you want her back. _Compromise._ Start where she asked you to.” Teagan slid Tess’ long letter across the desk. “Write. _Because_ she asked you to. Because that is the _best_ way for her to communicate right now.” He stood up. “And if you have decided you _don’t_ want her back, then _tell_ her so she may move _on_ with her life. Find enough respect in your heart to _stop_ the charade. You are doing yourself _no_ favors if all you wish to do is make her feel guilty. She is Commander of the Grey, now. At _your_ insistence. She has _enough_ of her plate _without_ you weighing her with guilt.”

 _“She_ has choices _too!_ The decision to stay married is _not_ only _my_ responsibility, Teagan. She married me _twice!_ No matter what dreams she has or who she meets, she made vows to _me._ But where _I_ have _kept_ my vows, _she_ chose to run off! She _ran_ instead of _waited_ for my return so I could explain! She ran off _not_ once, _not_ twice, but _three_ times!”

“Alistair she is Ferelden’s Queen-”

 _“She needs to act like it!”_ Alistair yelled.

Teagan slammed his palms on the desk so hard it jerked beneath him and toppings flew. “THEN _TREAT_ HER LIKE IT!!” He roared back, his face stretched and etched. Veins pulsed like the Arl could summon rage at will.

Alistair leaned away, taken aback by the man he thought he’d seen _upset_ before. A man he thought he knew. Chills tingled his skin. It was evident now Teagan was capable of violence. Capable, but had chosen benevolence. Tender when he needed to guide. A lion when he _needed_ to protect. Alistair had never seen _hints_ of the Lion before.

 _“Act_ like a King and _treat her as your Queen,_ Alistair! _Your actions_ have driven the Queen into acting like a Grey Warden! A Commander _you_ made her into! _Do NOT forget YOU shaped Tesslyn into the woman she is today!_ That was _you! Your_ actions caused the Queen to abandon her home in search of comfort and joy!”

“I have given her _everything_ a Queen needs, Teagan! She _repays_ me by _fucking_ a _mage!”_

“A mage _you manipulated her_ into recruiting! For _her_ well-being! You _cannot_ stand here and accuse her of _your_ actions! If you want Tesslyn to be the Queen you married, _you must treat her so!_ You have driven what _could_ be Ferelden’s _best Queen_ from the throne with your _lies_ and _cages! You_ have _lost_ her! She did not lose _herself,_ Alistair, _she found_ herself! _Away_ from the man who hurts her! Do _not_ blame her for your actions!” Teagan shoved a jar of ink and a handful of quills at Alistair’s chest and thrust a finger on blank parchment. _“Do_ as your Queen commands of you, _son of Maric!_ Do _your_ part to repair your marriage! I _did not_ fight ten years ensuring her safety from Loghain _only_ to see her _husband_ beat her down! _King Cailan_ did not _sacrifice his life_ so _this_ could become of _the woman he loved!_ You are _supposed_ to _protect_ her, yet she feels she must _run_ to be _free_ of you! _Freedom,_ Alistair! _STOP CAGING YOUR WIFE AND TREAT HER AS A QUEEN! LET HER BE FERELDEN’S QUEEN!”_

Teagan stepped back to straighten his attire and breathe. “And if you refuse, then you will be alone. _Overthrown,_ if this gets _worse._ I don’t wish to choose sides, nephew, but if you force my hand, _so be it_ _._ She also has _five Wardens_ willing to carry their Commander from treason. _One_ of them is your friend. Reconsider your pride before you lose anyone else, Alistair. By all accounts, I consider Tesslyn my daughter. She has been in my will since she _six,_ recognized by law as my _heir_ since she was fourteen _with_ her parents’ blessing. That is _my daughter_ you are hurting. Do _not_ underestimate what I am willing to _sacrifice_ to see her happy! If you wish a divorce, then _take_ her to the Divine and _stop_ playing her for a fool. But if you don’t, _then start writing!_ **_Be_** _the husband your wife_ ** _needs_** _instead of blaming her for all your mistakes!_ Be the husband she needs so _she_ doesn’t need to seek it in her _doctor!_ And at _least_ have the balls to _try_ to repair your marriage _before_ saying _nothing works!_ Do _not_ force your family apart over _pride,_ Alistair. You will fall _hard_ and _you will be alone.”_

Teagan strode for the door and yanked it open with a sharp arm. He looked back, jaw still tight, nostrils flaring with each breath. “If your response to Tesslyn is not written by sunrise, do _not_ expect her to come home again. Her _heart and soul_ is in that letter, and _you_ tore what she had left _apart!_ You are _not worthy_ of being _Husband_ if _you_ refuse to meet your wife at the level _you threw her to!”_

The door slammed so hard it rattled on its hinges, rumbled books along the wall, and made Alistair flinch.

The King of Ferelden stood silent, his own two boots up his ass, and eye-level with the floor. _Humbled_ in a way he never wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	30. Another Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A last attempt for Alistair and Tess to reconcile their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Sun & Moon, by Two Steps From Hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-aWVg_pOrc%22)  
> [Baba Yetu (The Lord's Prayer in Swahili), by Alex Boyé, BYU Men's Chorus & Philharmonic; Christopher Tin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vsINANZ6Riw)

Alistair sank back in his chair at his desk and sighed into his hands.

He fucking _hated_ when his Uncle was right.

The only problem was Alistair couldn’t think of solutions when problems blazed in his face. Right then, too many problems shrouded his vision. Driving away his wife was only one of them.

Hours later, parchment still lay almost empty. Not enough ink was used to move the line in the jar. Tear-stained and exhausted, Alistair pushed back his chair, and sulked through the palace to find his wife.

 

 

 _“So… you love him? I mean…_ **real** _love?” Alistair asks._

_It’s dark, even with fog settling around the orchard like snow in moonlight. I feel Alistair glancing at me._

_I can’t look at him._

_I never meant to be affectionate with Anders in front of my husband. I never planned to kiss him here. Nathaniel, Anders, and I… we only wanted a moment to ourselves. Like we have at Vigil’s Keep. We lit Cailan’s old camp and drank till we felt like giggling again. And for awhile, we forgot my husband’s house sat an hour’s walk behind us. We got lost in the moment of happiness of having our band back together._

_Until Alistair cleared his throat when Anders leaned in for a second kiss. We didn’t even know he’d followed us._

_Now, the orchard echoes silence like we’re stuck in a metal box._

_Alistair’s voice is the only sound as we walk. “He really makes you happy?”_

_My brows pinch. “I’m sorry you saw that. I haven’t done… that was it. That’s all I’ve done with him since I’ve been back. I swear it.”_

_The awkward silence intensifies. Faint lamps ahead light the fog for us. It almost feels like walking through a Nevarran sepulcher. Doesn’t deter the awkwardness._

_“I couldn’t write much. I did what I could… but I’m sorry in… in advance that it’s not what you expected.”_

_I look over. My husband’s eyes graze my face. Sorrow, solitude. Yearning._

**“I** _want to make you happy,_ **too,** _Tess. I’m_ **trying** _to try.”_

 _I can only stare back right now. I want to remind him he_ **hasn’t** _been trying. I can’t imagine what thoughts make him believe he’s_ **tried** _to repair our marriage since I’ve been back._

_The walk itself represents our awkward silence. I try not to look at Alistair. His gaze almost burns through me. I can’t handle it right now._

_Awkward does not cover it._

_Letting him lock us in his study doesn’t change the discomfiture. Any other day, lighting candles transforms this room to a place of nostalgia and sophistication with a comfortable couch. Tonight, it feels like a place where matters of court take place._

_Alistair - my husband - gestures to the couch he knows I like while he walks to his desk. “I couldn’t… write very much. I’m sorry,” he repeats. The way he says it sounds almost ominous. Like he’s sure it’s far from what I need. Like he expects it will instigate another fight yet he had a resolute deadline to hand it in. He takes continual deep breaths then holds it as he walks toward me._

_Why do I feel like he’s handing me a petition for divorce? He hasn’t given up already..._

_Has he?_

_I search him after I take the letter. He wasn’t lying. There’s not as much written as I hoped. Not near enough. But it’s also not what I expect from such a short note._

__

_Better than I expected. And it hurts more. The way he worded it hurts me with my own actions tonight._

_“I don’t… kissing him must have helped my argument wonders,” I mutter. I know I’ve done myself no favors letting that happen here._

_My husband stares at me. “It makes me think,” he says after a moment. “Proof, I guess.Or maybe the… culmination of trying to hide things to pro-” a hefty exhale. “-protect you. Of trying too hard.” Wetting his mouth makes a noise. “I never thought anything bad would come of it. I honestly thought I was making things easier on you, Tess.” I dare myself to look up at my husband. He’s breathing to keep watery eyes at bay. “I never guessed it might drive you away.” He meets my eyes for a second before joining me on the couch. A faint draft on my face reveals tears sneaked down my cheeks._

_Silence fills the room between crackles from the hearth. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if my word even holds weight now since he caught me kissing someone else. It won’t matter I didn’t know Anders would kiss me._

_From the corner of my eye, Alistair wipes his face with cloth, then turns his head to me. “Do you?” he asks. My own head turns before I want to._ **“Do** _you still want to be married to me? Do you want to… be in love with_ **me** _… again?”_

_I can’t see him well over the stuff in my eyes. I nod. “Yes.” I’ve never been good with words when I need to be. “I miss it.”_

_“Even if it will never be the same? I mean,” Alistair looks away, “it_ **won’t** _be the same. Ever. I don’t think it can be.”_

_“You think it won’t be… worth it? If it’s not the same?”_

_His eyes land on my mouth when his head turns. “Can you ever love me the same way again? Knowing you have someone better to run to if I can’t… measure up?”_

_“I don’t measure you to him, Alistair. You’re different from each other in almost every way.” I pause. “What… are you saying_ **you** _can’t love_ **me** _if it’s not the same? If I’m not… doing exactly as you want every day?”_

 _“I haven’t stopped loving you how I used to, Tess. But… you have_ **him,** _now. Can you_ **look** _at me,_ **now,** _and see someone who loves you? That’s what I’m -” he sniffs. “-what scares me. I’m worried that I’ll be- that I’m loving my wife, and I’ll be trying_ **so hard** _to be what you need, but I’m… you won’t_ **see** _how much I love you anymore. I’m_ **scared,** _Tess, that you won’t be_ **able** _to look at me and_ **know** _I love you. You have a man you who’s_ **anything** _you need outside right now. What do you need_ **me** _for? That’s what this feels like…” his voice trails off. “I’m sc- I’m scared you won’t ever love me again,” I almost can’t hear him._

_“He’s not you, Alistair.”_

_My husband turns to me with pleading eyes. “But_ **what** _does that_ **mean,** _Tess? I_ **need to know** _if_ **I** _still have something to offer you that_ **he** _can’t give you, that_ **no one else** _can.”_

_I hesitate. Search his eyes. “More than love,” it comes out a whisper. His face falls with another noise of heartache. “We used to have that. Inside and out. Broken and sew-sewn-”_

_And all a sudden, I understand what my husband meant by proposing to me after he read my letter._

_I can’t stop the water in my eyes. He_ **wasn’t** _trying to start over without working things out first. At least not only. He was trying to give me More Than Love again. The one good thing we had above all things, that no one else had. A good thing no one else even considered. The only good thing we had. The thing powerful enough to get us through the worst times and made the good times seem almost unreal._

 _Trying to_ **show** _me he still had something to offer me._

_And I fought with him instead._

_I can’t even say I’m sorry. Everything hurts all over. I can’t stop crying and it feels like my a cinch in my chest has strings on my face and my arms and my knees. I fought him when he was trying to show me had something no one else could give me. And I thought he was trying to avoid our problems again. Why does this hurt so bad? Everything is a blur around me._

_If I hadn’t seen him lock the doors, I would not know it’s Alistair’s arms that pull me in. I cling to him, try to hug him but I don’t even know what I’m grabbing right now. Everything just hurts so bad and I can’t calm down for the life of me to apologize or say I love him. I can’t-- I_ **can’t** **.** _I can’t_ **anything.** _I’m bawling all over him like I cried in the Deep Roads. Crying so hard it’s hard to breathe. I’m so so sorry, Alistair, I’m so sorry!_

_Crying so fucking hard I don’t recognize his voice through my own noise. I can’t understand what he’s saying. He doesn’t even come into focus until his fingers wipe across my face._

_My husband stares at me. Thumbs wipe under my lashes and sharpen his face. His own eyes leak, trickling down from the corners in streams. Alistair’s pout trembles as he searches my face. A thumb wipes my whole cheek as his eyes hold to mine._

_I feel helpless right now. Can’t stop crying. Can’t see without someone wiping my tears. I don’t even know how I’m breathing, it hurts to breathe. I can’t do anything but cry._

_Broken words gush out before I can even try to move. Alistair says he’s sorry for everything that’s happened since I came back. He’s sorry I was unhappy living with him, sorry I felt caged. He never meant to cage me. He just wanted me safe. All he wanted was for me to be happy and not worry about anything. He wasn’t trying to keep me from the world. Safe and happy, that’s all he ever wanted for me._

_My heart hurts even more when he explains why he’s always called me His. He never thought of me as his property. Alistair called me His because that’s how it felt to him. He says I became his heart. From the night of my Joining when he saw with me on the edge and I took his hand, Alistair says I’ve been his heart. That’s all he meant. He’s never fought to keep what he owned, he fought to keep his heart beating. Without me, my husband says, he doesn’t have a heart. He’s got no reason to keep fighting without me. I became his heart and his only reason for doing anything. He thought he could protect his heart best if he became King and had guards always ready to shield me._

_He thought being King would let him buy things I’ve always wanted, or even chocolates whenever I want, or special teas - things he didn’t think he could give me on his own. It’s why he’s always been so afraid of losing me. Always. That’s why he’s fought so hard in every battle, that’s why he threatened so many nobles who question his laws. Afraid of not being able to give me what I deserve. Afraid of losing his heart again._

_If I leave him for good… there’s nothing left. His exact words. No heart, and nothing to hold what he has left of himself. Everything he’s done was to keep me safe so he’d never have to build my pyre._

_It’s why he wanted me to conscript “the mage” in the first place. He never thought anything bad would happen to me while he was in Jainen, but in case of the worst, it was better for me to have a Healer._

_“I never- I never meant for you to fall in love with him, Tess! It hurts- it hurts so ba-a-” Alistair breaks in a hoarse wail that echoes heartache and mourning around the room. As if we weren’t already crying. My husband clings to me as if I’ve died and the body he holds is Dead, lifeless Tess._

_I understand, now. I understand what our separation - what letting myself love Anders - has done to Alistair. To Alistair, it was like I died, or like I lay dying and he keeps trying to cling to the last breath I have left. Months ago, I felt like Alistair left me for dead. Now, my actions have made Alistair feel like I died._

_The obstacle I face with this is Anders. If I was only fucking Anders for payback or even for fun, I could stop and not look back. But even now, sitting with my husband like this, I still love Anders. I picture his face, and I love him._

_Tess and my three husbands._

_No. Two husbands. Cai… Cailan was never my husband. Maker, that is a problem too. A fucking problem that makes my eyes leak again. I love a dead man as if he was a living husband. How is that fair to any of us?_

_As if reading my mind, Alistair asks me about The Dream. The dream of Cailan. He looks down at our hands and asks if that’s what I want from him. If I want him to take me far away to another land and leave everything we know behind. To start over completely fresh with no expectations… so he can’t disappoint me again. So we have nothing to lose. He asks if I want to renew our wedding vows every year, and if I want to start a shop of my own. If I want to forget the dream of being parents together. He would like to make our Fade children… but if I don’t want them anymore, then… he’ll try to destroy the pictures he drew, and try to forget them._

_As if there aren’t enough tears tonight._

_It takes me a while to find my voice. Enough of a while to reflect on our little beach house in the Fade with Eleonora and Carlyn. I’ve never had a dream about that life since that one trip to the Fade. I don’t know if I want that life. That’s his dream now. I’ve never had dreams with a baby boy._

_I remember little arms closing around me. I remember seeing my face in the tiny blonde child. I remember seeing Alistair in the ginger child. I remember how those tiny arms hugged me. I remember wonder and admiration in Alistair’s eyes as he looked at our children. He was so proud be a father in the Fade. He was proud to be_ **their** _father._

_I doubt he could forget them even if his life - or mine - depended on it._

_Alistair entire face droops when I say I’m not picky on which child I get. But I would like to try to make those Fade children. His face falls even more when I tell him I still love Anders and might want a child with_ **him** _one day. I can’t stop loving Anders. It’s not something I can turn on and off at will, just as I could not turn my feelings for Alistair back on at will after I thought he’d abandoned me._

 _Once upon a time, even when I pretended I was happy with life, he was my best friend. He was always the one person I could tell anything to. He was the_ **only** _person I felt comfortable telling everything to. Even when we fought. But things are so different now. I have other people I can tell anything to. It’s not singular to Alistair anymore. If I never knew he lied and kept secrets from me, I might wonder how such a bond can be broken._

_Alistair doesn’t understand how I can love him and Anders at the same time. I don’t know. I don’t have answers because I don’t know how things like that work. But I tell him I also love Cailan, now, because of my dream. It doesn’t matter Cailan isn’t real, I love him now as the love I feel for Alistair and Anders is real. I don’t know how anything like that is possible. Mere days ago I did not love Cailan, but does that mean what I feel isn’t real? I love Nathaniel like he is my brother, when he’s not. I love Teagan but I know he’s not my father or brother. If I felt nothing when I see or think of Anders, I would not bring this up. But I do, and I don’t think I could try to pretend I don’t feel anything for Anders. I don’t believe Alistair would not notice how I look at Anders. Hiding how I feel will not help repair what’s left of our marriage. The best I can do is promise not to let whatever romance I have with Anders out of Vigil’s Keep. I feel horrible Alistair caught us kissing, but it was never intended, nor was whatever rumors came out of Bann Franderel’s house. But I can promise to keep it at Vigil’s Keep from now on. I’d rather Alistair know than try to hide it, only for a child to end up with Anders’ face when Alistair thought it was his. I don’t want to hurt my husband like that._

_It's harder still explaining to Alistair I can love him when I love different qualities in Anders that Alistair doesn’t have. It doesn’t mean I don’t love Alistair. Waking up from nightmares next to Anders is not close to how I feel waking from nightmares with Alistair. That’s one thing only Alistair can comfort me from. Anders is an aspect the Grey Warden in me leans toward. But Tesslyn Cousland, the noble girl meant since birth to be Queen of Ferelden, leans toward the man she married. The prince who became King by taking axes for me, and losing sleep to hold me upright when I was stabbed. The man who carried me from Orzammar to Rainesfere in the snow. That girl can’t stop loving the man who walked through Andraste’s fire with me when I thought I was unworthy. Alistair is the first person who ever made me feel worthy of anything. He’s hurt my feelings and frightened me more times than I can count, but he’s the only reason I felt worthy of anything good. Alistair made me feel worthy. I don’t love Anders for close to the same reason. They appeal to different aspects inside me._

_I don’t know how to shut off half of myself forever. I can hide half for awhile, like I’ve done before, but sooner or later that suppressed half needs to be free. Otherwise Alistair and I will go in circles with our marriage forever. I don’t want to keep fighting only to keep hiding half myself. I’d rather leave one half of myself at Vigil’s Keep, and the other half here at the palace. If I alternate, if I’m both Commander and Queen… maybe I won’t feel so trapped when I’m in my husband’s home._

_I also don’t believe Anders will be around forever. I’ve talked with Anders on this, and I tell my husband everything. Anders and I expect he’ll one day tire of being my paramour. He also dreams of a solitary mountain home. One day, we know he will leave me and the Warden life behind. Even Nathaniel and Oghren expect me to return to the palace when that day comes. But Anders offers a peace I can’t find at the palace. I want to experience it while I can. I’ve never felt such peace before._

_It doesn’t stop me from also loving Alistair._

_By the time I stop to breathe, I feel drained. Out of energy to express anything emotional. It feels like my tears have depleted. But it’s also easier to think and speak. At least for me. And Alistair at least seems to consider my words. I don’t think he can relate to my life right now. The only other person he loves is still me; Tess in the Fade is still Tess, even if I have a different personality there. He doesn’t feel the world like I do. It’s still hard for Alistair to accept the fact thinking of Loghain hurts me_ **because** _I loved the man._

_I don’t know how I’ll feel about Anders in a month, or even tomorrow. I can only promise to not bring Anders around the palace unless necessary. Like we thought it was necessary this time to plan for Kal’Hirol as a group._

_We still haven’t done that. Marital problems have interfered without end since I arrived._

_When I look at Alistair, he looks like I feel. Emotionally exhausted. Transparent tear stains paint his cheeks. Even his eyes blink slow._

_Alistair doesn’t want to know about it. If I do anything with “the mage,” my husband does not want to hear about it._

_But, Alistair opens to me and searches my eyes, if I need something he’s not doing - if I have a need he’s not fulfilling - then “Please please_ **please** _ask_ **me** _first, instead of going straight to him,” my husband implores. He wants to be able to fulfill_ **all** _my needs._

 _He doesn’t want to fail me again. Doesn’t want to fail_ **us** _again._

_Nevermind. I still have tears left._

_One problem is_ **asking** _him, though. Sometimes he doesn’t listen. Sometimes he doesn’t hear what I need him to._

_“Can I leave a note, instead?” I ask._

_“A note?” he searches me still._

_“If I can’t ask for something? Because the thought of asking you for things makes me nervous._ **Because** _you get upset. It’s stopped me from asking for things before. For most of our marriage.”_

_Alistair surprises me with a nod. After a moment, his nod is confident and he relaxes with deep breath. “A note- a note’s good,” he agrees. He says it will give him time to think about the right way to react. So he doesn’t explode on me in fear again._

_“Actually…” he says after another moment. “Maybe notes would have worked all along. Maybe every time we’ve fought…”_

_Alistair looks at me again and folds his hand around mine. He wants to try. Notes and any other small things we can think of to help meet each other’s needs, at least to start us in the right direction. One small thing at a time, starting with notes and honesty; of all kinds. Maybe the notes will even help us be honest with our needs, and fears._

_Baby steps. My husband and I have always needed baby steps._

 

 

They awoke in his study covered in quilts. The hearth held a steady fire; someone had slipped in during the night. Otherwise they were alone. The first night since Tess returned that Alistair had not woken to one of them in tears. He hoped it meant… well, _Hope._

It was quiet. Not the awkward silence Alistair expected after such a night; after such a day. An understanding was reached, though, and in such understanding, their morning waded. Alistair’s fear of expressing fears - of showing his wife he wasn’t as strong as he thought he should be - pushed her away. She still loved him, and he loved her, but pushing her away changed their love. Alistair understood now: she’d suppressed part of herself to quell _his_ fears, but at Vigil’s Keep she had freedom to emerge. A part of herself that thrived without Alistair. More than ever, more than any discussion on _Better Than Need,_ Alistair understood it. _He understood his wife, at long last._ She did not _need_ to stay with him and had little motivation to when his fears ruled her days. But she _chose_ to stay; even when she could run to another man. She was choosing to stay to make the best of their marriage after all the heartache and tears. She had not necessarily chosen _him,_ but _love._ Tess chose _love,_ and now Alistair understood it. Tess had not given up on love, and she wanted to _return it_ to their marriage before _it_ gave up on love.

They ran the risk of ruining the aura of the room if they called for tea. So, Alistair filled glasses, and he and his wife began the day _together;_ for the first time in months. When reaching for empty glasses, he’d found notes from the night before their royal wedding. All Alistair’s thoughts on Tess, why he loved her, what made him confident she was meant for him. He’d scribbled his first Vows, and added to them. Nothing changed how he felt since he wrote it. Tears spilled again when he handed her a drink and his notes. A list over two years old, but _it was what Tess needed._ What she’d _wanted_ when she asked him to write a response to her letter. Encouraged and overcome, Alistair asked if they could make a new one together. A new list as of right then, what they loved about each other. What they wanted to keep. So with a favorite rum and a small table pulled over, husband and wife began the day writing. They began the day _remembering_ why they loved each other.

 _Overcome again._ His eyes misted watching her quill scratch, watching her write how parts of himself he felt insignificant filled her with so much love it hurt. Her eyes leaked as he recalled the way she breathed when he kissed her, or how she curled into him and slept so all night. Things they never considered about themselves. The creases around his eyes when he smiled. The way she used to smile when she saw him enter the same room she was in. The feel of her breath on his skin while she slept. They both loved how they’d stop walking to feel each other’s Taint, even when two floors separated them. _Simple_ things like seeing her in his favorite colors, and he in hers.

Simple things that stopped quills so eyes could search. Memories that raised hands to faces and took breath away, made them curl into each other. It wasn’t long before arms enclosed and lips smashed together, trying to reclaim breath they once shared. Wanting to _feel_ in love again.

Though Uncle Teagan was here to relieve Alistair from court, duty still called. The expedition to Kal’Hirol could not be ignored, nor delayed longer. While Tess bathed, Alistair remained in his study. Before they could meet as a group to discuss the expedition, Alistair needed to speak with the mage. Recalling what he loved about Tess surfaced memories of how Alistair felt when Tess felt confident. He couldn’t recall her acting like that in… years, but it had been an issue in her letter from the other night. Tess felt trapped because Alistair didn’t want her independent, while Anders took pleasure in her self-confidence. Alistair re-read her letter again - read her thoughts on Anders, and her dream of Cailan. He re-read his notes from the night before the royal wedding.

Much of what Alistair loved about Tess, deep down inside him, was how she felt when Anders honored her independence. Her _capabilities,_ her ability to rely on herself when _What Ifs_ faced them. _Alistair_ used to love her confidence, as well. His fear of losing his wife had smothered his reverence of her capabilities. Over time, it made him forget she _was_ able.

Tess was still bathing when Alistair interrupted breakfast to speak to Anders alone. Though the walk back to his study was silent, Alistair felt sanguine. He did not feel bitter walking next to this man anymore.

He was even more surprised to feel grateful someone had stepped up to take care of his wife when he had failed her.

Alistair’s only awkwardness came in trying to find the right words. He couldn’t stall forever, though, even to buy time for the right words. So he started with his last thoughts, and worked his way back, trying to keep it short and sweet. Another argument would only tear him and Tess apart again.

He thanked Anders for being there when Tess needed someone. Thanked him for being a good doctor, and for being whatever Tess needed. If Alistair wasn’t focused on keeping the exact words in his head, he might have laughed at Anders’ expression. For the first time, Alistair admitted his jealousy… and admitted the realization he could not hold it against Anders or Tess. Had Anders been the King and Alistair been he new recruit, he might have ended up in Anders’ place now. Alistair told him he and Tess decided to work through their marriage. He wanted to be the husband Tess needed… and he wanted Anders to respect their decision to stay married.

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Alistair said. Despite his best attempt to stay civil and look at Anders from Tess’ perspective, he could not look the mage in the eye right then.

Anders watched him; he saw it from the corner of his eye. The mage almost emitted an aura of caution while trying to remain brave. “She’s the best thing that’s happened to me too, Alistair. Long before I ever kissed her.” It seemed easier for Anders to stay calm and civil than it felt for Alistair.

Alistair raised his eyes and stared. He remembered how he felt with Tess from when she woke up from her Joining till their first kiss in Lothering. He thought of her letter again, and why Tess liked the mage. Between these and the mage’s words, Alistair saw a little of himself in Anders, just then. Perhaps Tess liked Anders because Anders reminded her of how Alistair used to be. A sheltered boy given freedom at last, and an incredible motive to keep fighting each day came with it.

“None of what’s happened was done to hurt you. To hurt anyone,” Anders told him. “Had I know you were out there last night…” he took a breath and looked away. “It won’t happen again here.”

Alistair studied him before speaking words to tie him to this mage until who knows when. “I don’t want to hear about it. Do you understand me?” He elaborated: whatever Anders had with Tess stayed at Vigil’s Keep. “I don’t even want to hear rumors.”

Looking at this mage brought another mage to mind. _Morrigan._ She was the closest way for Alistair to insert himself in Tess’ shoes. If Morrigan had stayed, or if Alistair knew where she was, he would insist she return to the palace. He would do his best to be _Father_ to the child he created, and he would support Morrigan to ensure his child did not suffer. Archdemon or not; though if it remembered being the Archdemon, even more reason to nurture it. Whether Tess approved, Alistair would try to be Father. Alistair would expect Tess to accept whatever love he felt for his child. No matter what Tess felt for Morrigan or the child, Alistair would try to be the father he never had.

And in turn, it reminded him of Tess admitting she may want Anders’ child one day. If such a day came, Alistair knew Tess would want Anders to move in the palace. For the same reason Alistair would want Morrigan to stay in the palace.

Alistair on a sudden understood why Tess was upset at the accusations of her and Nathaniel. Why she was upset Alistair had expected her to feel in love like he never left her at Vigil’s Keep. _If Morrigan was here,_ Alistair would expect Tess to honor his feelings - as she expected Alistair and the guard to honor hers. It did not matter the _dark ritual_ had been done to keep them alive. Anders was made a Grey Warden _also_ to keep Tess alive. In a way, Anders was Tess’ _dark ritual._ If Alistair would demand Tess respect his decision to be _Father,_ then Alistair could respect her decision.

And with Pádraig swearing he saw Morrigan in Amaranthine, Alistair’s decision might fruit sooner than any were ready for. _If_ Morrigan returned, Alistair could not admit a child with his face if he did not respect Tess’ decision.

He didn’t like it. Alistair knew he didn’t _have_ to like it. But at last he understood _what it meant to Tess._

“I know I can’t make you not love my wife, nor the other way around,” Alistair continued. “All I ask is you respect me in my house. No more kissing. Don’t try to make love to her here; not even in her family’s manor. This city is my home.” Alistair paused for a deep breath. For Tess, he wanted to stay level-headed. “If you are going to continue pursuing my wife, then be discreet. I don’t want to hear about it from _any_ source. And - p _lease-_ ” he stared hard at Anders’ eyes. _“Respect Tess._ If she says _No,_ then don’t force her into anything. _Please.”_ Alistair turned for a bottle, then turned back again. “And _please,_ ” breath left him in a huff. “My wife said she may want your child one day, but I’m _asking_ you _please_ \- _let_ **_me_ ** be the first to give her one.” Alistair wasn’t sure how to read Anders’ face. “I’ve wanted children with my wife for _years._ I don’t want to find out, in ten years or whenever, that what I _thought_ was _my baby_ grows into… _your_ face.” He still couldn’t read the mage’s face, but at least Anders nodded this time. _“Heal Tess._ Continue to heal her, give her whatever potions she needs to feel better. Do what you need to heal her on this expedition we’re about to take. But let _me_ have the first baby, and… _be discreet._ That’s all I’m asking.”

Anders nodded again. Alistair _wanted_ to believe the mage’s face read surprise and sympathy. “I have no problems with that. Some of that even covers concerns I’ve brought to Tess myself.” He nodded once more with a long exhale. “So… is there anything else…?”

Alistair gestured toward the door. “I’m done. Thank you for not arguing.”

Anders gave a brief, awkward smile before turning to the door.

“Wait,” Alistair said as Anders gripped the door handle. There was one thing Alistair needed from the mage: _How to tell if he needed help like Tess._ Tess felt she’d needed her antidepressants all her life, but she’d not known till Anders offered it. What if Alistair also needed potions? He wanted Tess to love him again, he wanted to give her the best possible husband. But, _and this was the hard part,_ Alistair wasn’t sure he could _be_ the best possible husband when _Fear_ got the best of him. When _Fear_ made him rationalize restricting Tess to where he could feel her Taint. He couldn’t stop Fear when it took over, but it caused problems in his marriage he almost couldn’t repair.

Anders didn’t have the answer Alistair hoped for. But the mage promised to _try;_ as Alistair promised to try. Anders was a physician, not a psychologist; what he treated Tess for was common in the Circle. With the right books to reference, however, he might be able to figure something out. There was also a chance _nothing_ was wrong with Alistair. Fear was not always a psychosis. If Alistair really could not control his Fear, it may be post-traumatic stress… in which case Alistair would need help far beyond Anders’ capabilities. Anders didn’t know how to medicate for that. They would need to hire a specialist from Tevinter.

_A Tevinter specialist in Ferelden to treat the King._

That would blow over well.

“And what happens if I can’t do that? There are political interests at stake. The last time Tevinter specialists entered the country, Loghain was selling off the Alienage.” Alistair paused. “What if it’s _not_ post-traumatic stress?”

Anders stared hard. Accusing. _Cold_ for the doctor who scrambled in desperation to protect Tess from Templar spells in The Keep’s bailey. It was then Alistair caught a glimpse of the man who told Tess and no other his real name. “Then you’ll just have to _control your anger._ _Won’t_ you?”

 _What?!_ **_Anger?_ ** It wasn’t _anger_ probl-… no. _No._

…Was it? Maker, _was it that bad?_ Alistair tried to think back to every fight he and Tess had, but Anders had taken him off guard. Alistair’s mind was blank save for that one possibility. A possibility that meant _he, Tess’ husband,_ had been the sole reason for driving Tess off.

That couldn’t _really_ be it. _Could_ it?

The thought disturbed him. Alistair did not want it to be true. That would mean it _wasn’t_ something beyond his control. It would mean…

It would mean Alistair was weaker than he should be. Than he _needed_ to be for his wife. So weak he couldn’t control his own emotions.

He didn’t want it to be true. _He didn’t want to be weak._

Alistair stared back. Anders was a great deal smaller, yet at that moment, Alistair felt intimidated. For the first time, he felt the weight of his actions in pushing Tess away. He never meant to push her away, but now he understood _he had._ Anger problems or no, Tess was right. Unlike all other times they fought, Tess now had somewhere else to go. Somewhere with people to protect her from _anything._ Even a King.

“There are no _miracle_ potions to treat post-traumatic stress. It would take long-term therapy including a series of potions that treat symptoms like panic attacks, anxiety, and Maker knows what else. But no potion can _make_ you a better husband. No potion can make you _not lie_ to your wife. Nothing can make you _not Smite_ her when she can’t do what you do. There are no potions to _make_ you _not yell_ at her if she wants to do something outside the schedule you give her. I can make you a potion for anxiety, which might help how you feel _knowing_ she’ll ask you things you don’t want to hear. But no potion can _make_ you a better husband. That’s a choice _you_ need to make.” Anders put his hand on the door. “I’ll do what I can to see if you need daily potions. But I can only do so much. Don’t expect potions to make choices for you.”

“You aren’t willing to sit with me once a day? For _Tess’_ sake?” Alistair couldn’t believe this. Maybe the _nice doctor_ act was _only_ an act.

“I’ll _do_ what I _can,”_ Anders repeated. “But I can _only_ do _so much,_ Alistair. I’m _just not_ that kind of doctor. And _potions can’t make choices for you.”_ The mage hesitated with with the door half open. From his stare, he was trying to read Alistair’s face. “You know, believe it or not, I don’t dislike you.” Anders seemed genuine enough. Alistair wasn’t sure he believed him. “I dislike some things you do, including the idea potions can make your faults disappear. But I don’t dislike _you._ And I enjoy helping people. I _do._ It gives me _immense satisfaction_ to know something I did gave someone a second chance. In _this_ case-” he gestured to Alistair with a polite smile “-it may be a _weakness._ I suppose only time will tell. But even if you try to kill me in a year, I’ll have fun trying to help you until then. Over time, you might enjoy it also. Nothing quite like _bonding_ with your _doctor.”_ Then Anders froze.

Alistair’s face hardened. That was _exactly_ what happened with Anders and Tess.

Anders grimaced. “Sorry. That was bad.” In that one blink of a moment, the Tough Lover act thinned and discomfort ruled again. “I’m going.” He stepped backwards. _“Yes,_ I’ll help you. I’ll help with whatever. Just don’t… ask in front of Tess if I’ll examine your _prostate._ She’ll want us _both_ naked.” Anders left with a smirk that said he knew Alistair didn’t get the joke.

Alistair _didn’t_ get the joke. Was it a joke? Not the right time for one by far.

He stared after the empty doorway for a moment before turning to scour his books. Then the library; Anders said it for a reason, right? Alistair found a book on human anatomy, skimmed the glossary, and flipped pages again. A detailed, labeled drawing of male genitals sat on an entire page. Text opposite said the prostate was examined in live patients by inserting fingers into the anus.

 _Don’t ask me in front of Tess… she’ll want us both naked,_ Anders had said.

With a grin - he wasn’t sure if wry or in hilarity - Alistair slammed the book shut. He strode from the library with a huff of amusement. He still didn’t care for the mage except as a doctor. He still hated the fact he’d have to _share_ his _wife._ He dreaded the trials and errors of winning her back all to himself.

But at least his wife’s fetishes never changed. Which meant Tess had not changed; not as much as Alistair thought. And she was giving him a second chance. _Another_ second chance. He had _time_ now.

Being a better husband might not be as hard as he feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	31. Cognizance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Tess and her Wardens plan and train reveals the "cage" Alistair kept around his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Victory of Life, by Future World Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MK0j765ko4)  
> [Baba Yetu (The Lord’s Prayer), circa: 2:01 - 2:37 minutes, by Alex Boye and BYU Men’s Choir ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vsINANZ6Riw)

The rest of the day was easier. So much fucking easier than the entire two months had been. For the first time since he found Tess in the Wending Wood, Alistair felt hopeful about his marriage. He felt he’d still be married by the return from Kal’Hirol. And with hope lifting tensions, it was time to _prepare_ for Kal’Hirol.

No one said a word about Alistair’s new mood. They all watched as if he might combust any second, but out loud, they conversed as if he hadn’t shut himself away for days. Tess wasn’t as buoyant as Alistair, and even she studied him in caution. But no one could doubt his hope and eagerness resounded through the palace. He saw it on the faces of his wife’s Wardens and the elite guard: they might get out Kal’Hirol alive, now. The feat had not seemed possible yesterday with so much distress.

Supper was an odd time to discuss gore and possible death, but food and drink brought Wardens and warriors together like little else. Teagan joined them, eager and interacting as if he would attend their mission. Though he would stay behind as Regent, Uncle would launch the rescue if Alistair and Tess failed to return on time, as he did during the Blight.

Zevran’s corrected drawings were passed around as they ate. It surprised Alistair to learn Tess helped draw the corrections that brought the monsters to life on paper. He never even knew Tess could draw. Between her and the female dwarf, a shocking accuracy gave everyone realistic context to study. Those who’d fought darkspawn added or reinforced target areas already drawn with different colored inks. The tiny rogue Sigrun recounted what the Legion found in Kal’Hirol, backed up by the account of Nathaniel, Oghren, and Justice. Nathaniel recalled acidic blood from a new spawn called the Children, and showed off a scar on his hand. Even though Tess insisted her drawings of the Children were not accurate, what she depicted was disturbing enough. Like deformed human child faces on giant bolus bugs who grew legs to stand and scythe hands. It made Alistair shiver.

Worse, Anders had no way to counteract the acid from the larval spawn. There had been no way to take any back to study because it ate through vials. Their best bet was fight from a distance, but, as he pointed out with apprehension, such was impossible to control with darkspawn. The next best option was bring other, stronger poisons to overpower the acid and flush it out, though whoever got hit would remain incapacitated till the second poison passed. It would require packing _and protecting_ antidotes - _the other poisons_ \- he already had ready at Vigil’s Keep. Anders suggested they bring an additional Healer, though that would leave them at least one man short at all times since the healer would need a bodyguard. One man short at all times could be the difference between life or death if the situation grew dire. Another mage healer was a different story. Anders dreaded returning to the Circle, but if Kal’Hirol proved too harsh and they _had_ to retreat, they should enlist more mages from Kinloch. Like Anders, another mage healer could also damage.

When Alistair asked if it was anything like Deepstalker venom, Oghren laughed so loud he echoed in the full room and food flew from his mouth. According to him, not even the Archdemon spit anything so ravenous. He closer likened it to the glowing slime that attacked Zevran’s legs in Ortan thaig; Zevran cringed at the memory. While the acidic larval blood wasn’t slime, it ate through metal “like candy.” They could not kill the Children without spilling acid. The Wardens had already contemplated burning the cocoons from a distance, but the likelihood of a successful scorching out of accuracy range was slim. The Children grub burst out as soon as anyone got within reach of the cocoons. As much as Oghren enjoyed a challenging fight, even he agreed they’d need to rely on archers and Justice to fight “those sodding maggots.”

Tess stared into the void, disturbed, frowning as she compared the burn of the Children’s Taint to a broodmother. It made Alistair shudder again. He couldn’t remember the specific burn, but he remembered the sickening sight and noises. He remembered it made them all sick, and a tentacle had almost ripped someone’s head clean off. He didn’t look forward to meeting these Children.

Tess suggesting dragon scale armor hushed the table in thought. She looked from Zevran to Alistair, reminding them of the the dragon hide and scales in the royal vault. The dragon guarding Andraste’s ashes left them with plenty, and though Master Wade made three sets of armor back then, they still had scales to spare. Not to mention many scales were large enough to outfit an entire arm. She looked around the table when she said dragons had a natural resistance to most poisons. While others nodded, Nathaniel spoke up. When the acid ate through his gloves at Blackmarsh, his mind had gone first to dragon saliva. Rarest of stocks, but it flushed most poisons in mere moments. While they didn’t have dragon saliva, dragon scale armor may be the edge they’d need. It could spare their actual armor long enough to break surface again. Sigrun and Justice disliked the idea of stalling another week to reinforce armor again, but logic won over with almost no hesitation. If everyone was better protected, the heavy hitters could rush into battle as if each fight was normal. And, as Tess and Nathaniel nodded together, Master Wade would be thrilled to craft dragon scales on to armor he’d already _perfected._

Alistair then remembered his claustrophobia in the Carta and Deep Roads tunnels. He began to suggest potions for nausea… then shook his head, remembering no one kept them down. Anders proved useful again when he said he’d already made tablets that dissolve in the mouth. “Like children take,” the mage said. Potions, tablets, balms, everything they might need according to Tess’ account of the Deep Roads awaited them at Vigil’s Keep. No chance in the Void they’d head underground to meet an overwhelming force of darkspawn after the damage the small surface numbers inflicted.

With a glance to Tess, Anders told Alistair they’d worked on a version of a Holy Smite Tess could summon with ease. “A _mage_ version,” Anders emphasized, “One that may be more deadly than a Templar’s.” Without a doubt, this had Alistair’s attention. He remembered all her frustrated attempts to create a Holy Smite here on palace grounds. He remembered the day in Vigil’s Keep courtyard when fear pushed him to make Tess defend herself against a Holy Smite… then he’d Drained her. Yet Tess had not been able to defend herself like Alistair wanted. If not for Anders rushing in with barriers, Alistair may have hurt his wife beyond repair. It was the day that prompted Tess to seek Anders for intimacy. The day that proved Anders might be better for her than Alistair was. Without bringing up _that day_ in The Keep’s yard, Anders assured their new spells should surprise even the smartest darkspawn. It wasn’t only Tess, either, they’d all practiced to ensure they’d get back home together. As soon as day broke on the morrow, the Wardens could demonstrate their teamwork.

Tess then ran a theory by Anders, weapon enchantment during battle. One theory led to another, and soon Tess and Anders were locked in conversation with others on tactics and what mass weapons enchantments work best at what distance or what type of enemy. Justice brought up he could also enchant weapons with some of the damage his Veil cloak absorbed, which led to suggesting Tess may be able to summon her own sort of Veil cloak. Ideas, strategy for infinite possibilities Alistair wasn’t aware existed prior to this night. If Tess and Justice could both summon Veil cloaks, then they could fight alongside any overwhelmed teammates with little risk. Nathaniel suggested it could even allow Tess and Justice to charge ahead and clear the path, sparing everyone’s weapons and armor. Ideas that might otherwise spell out _Death_ _._ Determination was all but alive in Tess as she planned aloud how she would fight alongside others in Death’s reach underground. Tess recalled her diamond-coated dagger had not decayed from the acid like other blades had... which birthed the idea Tess was _best_ person to charge ahead, _if_ she could summon her own Veil cloak. If anyone scouted, it would be her. _Should_ be her. Should sneaking fail her, she could hold off even a surge of spawn by herself until the others caught up.

Unlike during the Blight, Tess was not afraid now. Not afraid of the pain she might endure. Not afraid of facing the horrors she saw during the Blight. Tess no longer feared the unknown. She had come to terms with it.

Alistair watched his wife. Curiosity, admiration of her brave plans. _Concern._ Tess had accepted her path as a Grey Warden. Not in the way she’d done when she felt Alistair abandoned her; not _simply_ checking on leads and outfitting her Wardens. But _Commander._ Tess, there and then, was Commander of the Grey. It was the way Duncan meant for their Joining to affect them. While Alistair had failed his old Commander and became King - irreversible at this point - Tess had embraced her Calling. _A Calling Alistair never wanted for his wife, or himself._ He saw her now not as Queen, not as Wife of the King, but a warrior who accepted Fate. Accepted her death sentence. He knew now his wife’s path lay at Vigil’s Keep, or wherever the Wardens ended up.

He also suspected the only way Tess would remain at the palace was if she had Alistair’s children. But with the expedition ahead of them, the ability to settle down and try to make children could not happen for months.

 _It all made sense now._ All of it: Tess was unsure she even wanted children anymore; at least not Alistair’s dream children. She was reluctant to come home where she lived by schedules. She wanted to live with other Wardens, not only _one._ She had made peace with the _gift_ the Archdemon gave her up on death. Tess had never wanted a Warden’s life… but now she thrived in it. Alistair had unknowingly given his wife the very push that transformed her into a Warden-Commander. He hadn’t meant to, but it happened; at _his_ hand. And now she had trouble returning to her duty as Queen. Tess saw the greater good, whereas Alistair saw a smaller picture the size of his country. Tess _fought_ for the greater good, now. The _Queen_ had turned the First Warden out of Ferelden, but the _Commander_ sat at Alistair’s table devising ways for her Wardens to succeed.

Teagan was wrong. Alistair could not treat his wife as Queen. That was not the way to win her back anymore. Alistair needed to treat his wife as Commander. As a person who knew what was best for herself and her charges; like the King knew what was best for himself and his country.

 _And he understood_ **_again_** _._ Teagan _was_ right; just not from a common disposition. Alistair needed to treat his wife as Commander of the Grey, above the common folk, above the other nobles. No, not above - _outside. Beyond_ the common folk and fellow nobles. Freedom to do what needed to be done as she saw fit concerning her duties. _It was what Alistair should have done before._ By treating Tess as _Commander,_ he would treat her _as a Queen._ There was no difference now in the way he _should_ treat his wife.

But he had not done so before. _Alistair knew now._ He had not treated his wife the Queen _as a Queen_ before. He’d not wanted to _see_ the Queen treated as a Commander; he’d not seen the similarities. He’d wanted his wife _pampered;_ relaxed, happy, comfortable. Alistair thought his wife _deserved_ to relax and be pampered. But he’d not seen how imprisoning it had been for her; however gilded a cage. He thought he’d understood the night before when they’d talked, but he had proper context now. He witnessed the difference in _his_ idea of comfort to _hers._ Alistair understood what Teagan meant by Tess’ needs were different than his. Whether Tess had needed these same needs a year ago… well, it was too late to reverse those years.

It would not be easy. It was already hard for Alistair knowing his wife did not want to a be person who stood above others; as Alistair did. It would take time to adjust to Tess wanting to be an _Equal_ among the people.

And he understood her dream of _Cailan,_ now, as well. She’d described it in detail. Alistair had not wanted to read it, and admitted now he’d read by selection. In the dream, she’d been an _equal,_ naught but another neighbor, another resident, and she called it _Perfect._ In the real world, Alistair wanted her _above_ the people. He’d wanted to show her off, and the people to admire her. But she’d never wanted that. _He remembered all their discussions now._ She wanted to be an equal all along, helping others _as_ an equal. She’d _never_ wanted to be Queen; Alistair’s nor Cailan’s. Her noble blood proved useful at times, and she enjoyed noble privileges such as soft beds and new dresses. But she never wanted to stand out amongst the crowd. _Alistair_ had _made_ her.

Importance without drawing attention to herself. The Grey Wardens offered her that now, when Alistair had never tried. When Alistair thought she _deserved better._ He’d never once considered what Warden life offered was _her_ idea of better.

It was the culmination of every argument they’d ever had. But he _only now knew it._ She’d wanted to be _her_ idea of happy. And Alistair had been so selfish - _as Teagan called him out_ \- he assumed _her idea of happiness_ revolved around _his._ Revolved around _him._

It made his eyes water. There at the noisy supper table, Alistair stared at his wife with an aching heart and glossy eyes. Her physical scars were gone, but he saw four years of unhappiness he’d pretended didn’t exist. She had always been _his_ source of happiness, _his_ home, _his_ comfort. But it wasn’t like that for her. Alistair knew now her happiness did not stem from his; from _him. Admitting_ it now hurt. It turned years of her pain into guilt and anchored it in his gut. And there was no way to make up for all those years. Those years were lost.

Alistair covered her hand and squeezed, and Tess gave a double-glance. He smiled for his wife, blinking to clear his eyes. Unlike the elite guard, Tess’ new Wardens were not used to Alistair crying in front of anyone. From the corner of his eyes, he saw them stare. Alistair laced his fingers around his wife’s and squeezed again.

“I more than love you, Tess,” he avowed.

Alistair intended to prove it this time.

 

 

Alistair awoke with a strange feeling. _Different._ Different enough from the past few months to consider it strange. The feeling of unease he expected from knowing Tess would train for battle never came. Or maybe unease from knowing they _expected_ battle underground, where senses and reality distorted. But the anxiousness never came. It felt like _just another thing_ to do. He wanted to attribute the feeling of ease to the new understanding he came to yesterday, but he took a potion for anxiety before bed. From what Anders said, Alistair didn’t expect a daily medication to work so soon. But perhaps it had.

He wondered if the potion Tess took made _her_ feel so… _normal_ the first day. Alistair never appreciated medicine quite like he did now. He’d only attributed its necessity to combat wounds.

After morning tea, Anders pulled him aside with another set of potions, enough for a week. Some were for anxiety attacks, like if watching Tess take hits in training got too much. However, Anders reminded him there was a chance the potions would not work for attacks; an indicative of something _worse_ than anxiety. He told Alistair to journal his feelings during the day, in particular when fear or nervousness spiked and his reactions at those times.

Recording his feelings throughout the day sounded like a pain in the ass.

But if it worked for Tess, then Alistair could do it too. It even made her better at verbal communication, though Alistair did not think she was aware of it.

Anders urged absolute honesty. If Alistair exaggerated what he felt, Anders could misdiagnose; he’d already told the consequences. If Alistair left any feeling out or downplayed reactions for sake of pride, then Anders could not pinpoint what help he needed. And, from Anders’ own experience, transcribing reactions made one more aware of their feelings at the time of each occurrence. Alistair didn’t need him to elaborate: if he was aware of his feelings when they occurred, he could better control his reactions. Watching Tess train - to point, watching her deflect damage - was the perfect opportunity to test his awareness and self-control.

Alistair didn’t know if it was awareness or the anxiety potion, but watching his wife put herself in danger did not agitate him that day.

Even more surprising, Alistair found himself intrigued. Justice showed off an impressive cloak comprised of the Veil itself. Such a cloak allowed the corpse to control incoming damage by intercepting blows. The lyrium build up in Tess, Anders explained as Justice included her in the shell, allowed the Veil to recognize her as part of him. Alistair saw little more than an outlined shadow in a blur of violet, and he could not tell who moved within. He watched Anders attack the cloak, watched Nathaniel’s arrows hit as if nothing more than tossed. Even Oghren’s axe hit the cloaked shield like a weak hammer. Then Oghren, a bronto of a dwarf, stood near to demonstrate the damage output when Justice expelled the absorbed blows. The Veil cloak itself swallowed portions of damage to protect the Fade - in this case, Justice the pure spirit. Alistair had not known such a thing to be possible.

And it made him think. Alistair began to understand _why_ Tess absorbed the Archdemon’s mana. Tess had so much lyrium in her body the _Veil mistook her_ for a piece of the Fade. _She confused the Veil._ As if the Veil was a conscious thing; though such could be said of the Fade, where magic originated. The Archdemon’s mana must have found her like a magnet.

Anders was next. No one aside from Tess’ Wardens had seen anyone control roots and vines before. Each crack and smack that pulled or spit Anders from the ground made everyone else jump. Unlike Justice’s cloak, Anders had more control over the vines he summoned. He could not only move around underground, but he could take up to two people with him at a time. Anders could also use such nature to impale darkspawn or strip a being of armor - or skin. He provided a disturbing display upon target dummies. Less unnerving were the defensive aspects. Slick leaves and snake-like vines obeyed his command, turning the ground around him into a place no one could keep balance. Anders could summon or dismiss them in the blink of an eye, which would give archers time to overwhelm struggling darkspawn. It would also allow Tess time to rip water from the vines; _it sounded menacing to Alistair;_ whence Anders could freeze the darkspawn in place. Anders could then summon more vines while Tess attacked with spirit fire, which did not affect ice or plants. A deadly combination to affect a wide berth.

It seemed almost nothing could overwhelm them underground. While no one knew what precisely lay in wait in Kal’Hirol, magic might clear entire areas without anyone else raising a weapon. _Entire areas_ of threat eliminated in little longer than a blink.

Alistair couldn’t help wondering how they would have fared during the Blight with such magic. Although, Tess did not have magic until the Archdemon’s death. The spirit fire that came so easy for her now had been the _Archdemon’s_ favorite offense. Still, Alistair wondered if Morrigan had had more up her sleeves than shapeshifting. Morrigan had resented Alistair and did not pull more than her base share until the Deep Roads. Like she’d not used her calming spell on Tess until after the party arrived in Denerim for the Landsmeet, though Tess needed it much earlier.

It was the first time Alistair remembered Morrigan in bitterness.

Then came using vines as transportation. One by one, Anders took everyone and moved them across the practice field, then moved them back. He wasn’t sure the likelihood of _needing_ to move anyone, but they all agreed they should be familiar with the feeling. It wasn’t everyday someone traveled wrapped in roots under the surface, after all.

What seemed like a blink of a moment for the others felt drawn out for Alistair. Thick, uncomfortable silence as Anders moved the King in a pod of roots in darkness of the packed soil. Anders wasn’t sure if the vines would see his party as friend or foe if he let go, so he kept an arm around each _passenger._ And so Alistair stood, with Anders’ arm around him in utter darkness and the sensation of moving. He couldn’t see the man in front of him to save his life. But when Anders turned his head, Alistair knew it. Hot breath moved past his neck. At that moment, Alistair hated not being taller than he already was.

“Don’t even think about kissing me,” Alistair warned. Anders only snorted in response.

When they surfaced, daylight blinded Alistair. While he stumbled to get his bearings back, Anders stepped away. “He tried to _kiss_ me.”

 _“What?!”_ Alistair blinked and rubbed his eyes hard in time to see his wife throw up her arms with a huge grin.

“Now take off your clothes and do it again!”

Nathaniel next to her stared a moment, before he, Pádraig, and Teagan grinned like they wish they couldn’t. Zevran laughed like he’d waited for years for Tess to say that again. Anders grinned at Tess with twinkling eyes, equal parts mischief… and, as Alistair didn’t want to acknowledge, admiration.

Alistair knew what it was from how Tess affected _him._ Anders adored Tess; and from the sparkle in Tess’ gaze, the feeling reciprocated. Alistair kicked himself inside his mind when he remembered he’d let the affair continue. But Tess had been right: better for Alistair to know, than to watch how she looked at Anders and deny it. He knew he’d be bitter and suspicious if Tess had told him the affair had outright ended.

More demonstrations and group training took Alistair’s mind off the looks his wife gave the mage. Tess’ version of a Holy Smite intrigued them all. Alistair recognized the combination of a mage’s Mana Clash and Cleansing Burst without Anders explaining. A Clashing Burst they called it, to make it easier to reference. While it looked different than a Smite, it did comparable damage. But unlike a Smite, Tess could combine her new spell with _more_ spells. Fire, ice, rock, spirit fire like the Archdemon had used; a shiver flew up Alistair’s spine as he watched the violet vortex.

And as dangerous as her new magic was, it swelled Alistair’s chest. Tess had discovered a way to perform a Holy Smite, _as Alistair wanted._ It wasn’t the same Holy Smite Alistair could perform, but it would protect her - better than an actual Smite might. _She’d found a way to ease his fears._ He knew without a doubt Tess could protect herself if he failed her underground again. Alistair almost couldn’t stay the relief and emotion flooding him.

He also understood Anders’ plea of desperation the day Alistair Smote Tess in the Vigil’s Keep bailey. Anders had insisted there was another way for Tess to learn. Alistair hadn’t wanted to listen, but Anders had been right. Tess learned her own way in her own time. And watching her now, observing Anders watching her, Alistair better understood why Tess liked the mage. As Tess stated in her letter, though Alistair had no context till now, Anders encouraged her to be herself. He trusted Tess to find her own methods in her own comfort zone. For Tess who felt restricted by Alistair, Anders was a beacon she could shine through. Tess found a way to summon Holy Smites with ease - perhaps because she’d seen it was important to Alistair - but it was _her_ way. It proved Alistair’s way _wasn’t_ the best way for Tess.

Tess had not lost the ability to _become a rune,_ either. Alistair exchanged glances with others as Anders hit Tess with a string of offensive spells. Damnable crushing prisons, frost that slowed or froze most enemies, spells that caused waking nightmares or paralysis. Things that made Alistair cringe, causing Teagan and Pádraig to assure him it was _only practice._ Tess not only absorbed them all, but she could control _how_ they came out now. As with absorbing magic atop Fort Drakon, Tess expelled it threefold, though this time she could strengthen her Clashing Bursts with the absorbed spells. _Explosive_ bursts that not only did area damage, but could also trap those nearby in paralyzing prisons or disorient them while it damaged. Depending on what spells she intercepted, she could buy their party time for healing or breath.

Most curious was her new ability to rip water from trees. Anders explained as they watched: if the trees were people, the Chantry would label Tess a Blood Mage. But Darkspawn bled, Anders reminded them, which meant they had water in their bodies as any tree or person. Alistair stared as he processed the disturbing thought, and Anders answered with a nod of agreement. If Tess could pull water from trees, she could do the same to _anything;_ or anyone. Tess could then freeze the water she ripped out and send it flying back in like little blades. _So that’s what they meant._ If Anders summoned vines and leaves, Tess could rip the water out. _Nature could submit itself for sacrifice_ that would pain people beyond compare.

Anders could coax Nature out to nurture and protect. Tess could damage Nature so hard it became unrecognizable. Alistair wondered if Nature sat await in worry of who would summon it next.

A feat more up Alistair’s alley was enchanting weapons. Entertaining as it was useful, a temporary enchantment that did not need runes; though to hear Tess theorize, _weapons_ became the runes. Anders showed Tess how he managed, explained it took constant effort to extend his magic through the hands of others. He used the weapons of others as an extension of himself. Alistair understood extensions; he once tied handkerchiefs on Tess's wrist as his extension, as her weapons were hers. They watched Anders guide Tess into coating select weapons in frost, alternating whose weapons became conduits. While Tess extended her magic, she could only focus on one person at a time and could not cast spells - or move - at the same time. After the third attempt, Anders asked if she could enchant her own weapons. It was then Tess’ universe clicked into place: _Arcane Warrior._ Anders, Zevran, Alistair, and Pádraig spoke it in unison as Tess lit her daggers in violet flames. Her eyes flew from Alistair to Zevran in wonder they all shared.

In Tevinter ruins of the Brecilian forest during the Blight, they’d discovered an essence trapped in crystallized blood, and in exchange for peace of death, it provided ancient elven secrets of combat magic. Until then, all recorded knowledge of _Arcane Warriors_ was the name; it was all any Dalish clan either knew or divulged. At the time of learning, the knowledge did Alistair and Tess’ party no good; they had no warrior magi. But now, the secrets worked for Tess.

Secrets Tess worked out in her head before testing. She stared at her flaming daggers for a moment before sending a surge to her hands - a surge that made Anders back up with his arms out to push others out of the way - and Tess stabbed the ground. Dirt and grass flew into the air like a small bomb exploded. When it settled, the ground revealed a small, scorched crater. Tess pulled up her dagger with her eyes on Anders, as if he had answers or suggestions. With another glance to her daggers, she lit _Rose_ on fire and threw it at the target dummy, where it hit like a flaming catapult. She then yanked water from grass, formed a dart of ice with purple flames, and without hesitation, spun and hurled it at Justice. Everyone flinched. Justice almost didn’t raise his shield or his Veil cloak in time. Tess didn’t give time to complain, nor did _extending magic_ take full weight till now. She formed dagger after dagger from dirt, of ice from water she pulled, even what seemed like daggers of pure flame or spirit fire; extending magic as _anything,_ anywhere. Each one hit and absorbed into Justice’s Veil cloak.

Before anyone could ask what the point had been, Tess told Justice to hit her. Alistair protested, even Anders protested and Oghren winced; Oghren knew how it felt. Nathaniel asked if they left their balls inside. Teagan hushed them all. Tess was ready when Justice spit back her magic. _In one hand and out the other, being_ the rune, Tess welcomed her own spells back in and formed another new blade of intertwining rock and ice and the fire each could hold. Justice lunged with his sword, but Tess seemed ready. She jumped back, and from the conjured dagger came a stream of magic that linked her hands in a shimmering bridge. Justice’s sword caught ablaze and reverberated as if it hit stone. _A conjured shield that became a weapon upon impact._ Anders gripped Alistair’s shoulder in intrigue and awe. Justice studied his flaming sword before putting it out, complaining he’d need to visit the smithy again.

 _Arcane Warrior_ she was.

“Just remember she’s mine at The Keep.” Anders squeezed Alistair’s shoulder before heading out to Tess. _That fucking prick._ If he hadn’t rushed out of reach, Alistair would punch him. “Can you do that again?” Anders asked Tess.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I meant to block him. I don’t know what happened.” Tess shook her head.

Anders illuminated his hands in fire and ice with a grin. “Try it again.” No one watching could deny his attraction to Tess. An attraction fueled by Tess revealing what lay inside her.

As much as Alistair didn’t want to see Anders undressing Tess with his eyes, _what lay inside her_ was a prime advantage. The need for a rescue team might not be necessary now. As tragic as Tess’ lyrium addiction had been, it gave her a miraculous edge none of them expected. If humans who lived with Tess could not predict the extent of her magical talent, then neither could darkspawn.

It also reminded Alistair Tess was more than capable of protecting herself. Far capable _beyond_ what he remembered. The more he watched her practice, the more Tess proved herself against blade, arrow, and magic… the more Alistair was convinced he held her back. He understood at last why she had used the words _caged me._ If ever there was a threat to the palace or on her life, Tess could stop it with ease. Or _before_ an attempt could fruit, considering she was a rogue and _thought_ like an assassin. And _now_ she also thought like a _mage._ Anyone attempting to harm Tess in her home would wish for death.

Alistair looked back in his memory… and wondered why he only recalled an addict who could not look after herself. As he watched Tess now, he considered the controlled woman he met at Ostagar. Ostagar seemed like a distant lifetime; almost _someone else’s_ life. _Battle Tess,_ she called herself when combat reflexes kicked in. She had used lyrium at Ostagar; so much, in fact, the mage fighting with them went without because of her. Alistair used to think lyrium gave her strength to fight as she did. She was such a different person outside battle that Alistair _assumed_ fighting wasn’t in her true nature. He thought she wasn’t as effective when she didn’t take lyrium on a regular basis. But now he knew. _That_ was his mistake. By allowing himself to believe _lyrium_ made her capable, Alistair had cursed himself - and cursed her.

But Alistair never _understood_ until _now._ Though others confirmed she’d been trained by an Antivan Crow, _Alistair assumed_ lyrium gave her strength… _not_ her training. He _knew,_ yet he could not _accept_ it. The _very assumption_ lyrium gave her strength to defend herself was the _leash_ she said she hated. The leash she said Alistair kept on her. Even during the Blight, she’d spoken of it; but he’d never wanted to hear it. _Now_ Alistair understood, though. He understood - he _saw_ \- the cage he put her in, and it tore at his insides like a bomb. By _treating_ her as if his assumption was truth, it caused her dependency. _He_ caused her dependency.

 _Alistair had_ **_shaped_ ** _her_ … into someone who could not live without him. Sten had told him to shape Tess, but _Fear_ had already shaped _Alistair._ Alistair was a shaped man who thought he could shape another. When all that happened was _Fear_ made him confine Tess where _Fear felt safe._

Alistair now believed it wasn’t what Sten meant by _Shape Her._

It was the same notion that led the Tevinter Imperium into enslaving elves. They feared the ancient elves were more powerful than human magi, and thus present elves by right of blood. So to _prove_ themselves right, Magisters declared elves a race _submissive by nature._ Those shaped by Fear trying to shape others. As if shaping others proved they _weren’t_ shaped by Fear.

That’s what Alistair had done. He _remembered_ justifying his mastery over Tess because she was _submissive by nature._ Even when some of his domination frightened her. By the time she’d healed from her stab wounds and they returned to the Deep Roads, _Tess believed his belief_ that she should submit to him. He remembered right before leaving the Deep Roads, Tess wanted him to give her orders, to tie the handkerchief on again... and Alistair then had thought _something was wrong with her to want that._ But now he knew. _He had made her want that._

His eyes teared up in memory. Alistair was aghast at his ability to brainwash someone. Like _that,_ of all ways. Horrified he had brainwash his _wife_ into thinking she could not survive without him. And the assumption that _led_ to brainwash _created_ fears for _him_ \- fears that maybe never existed to begin with. Like the idea _he_ could not live without _her._ And the idea her _ability_ was naught but an excuse to try to leave him. He stood now questioning his memory. Had Tess even _needed_ help back then?

… or had Alistair only _wanted to see_ she needed help? Had he _manifested_ situations to nurse her out of? Even if Tess _needed_ actual help at one point… had he let himself get carried away? _Helping_ her turned to _forcing_ her? Tess’ letter said she’d felt forced into their relationship... and now, Alistair recalled he felt he’d said _I Love You_ too soon. But he’d brushed it off and took charge of their party instead. It got worse when Tess relapsed in Honnleath. She’d relapsed to _escape_ him when she had nowhere to go; he’d known her reason even then. Looking back, that withdraw had given him _more_ control because it left her too weak to control her own body. Maybe she _had_ needed actual help _then._ And then, it had made him feel in control at a time he’d felt he had none… but maybe he’d had control all along. And maybe he _abused_ it. He abused control by convincing himself _she needed him._

Was Alistair capable of that? Was _he_ capable of abusing power? _Was he as bad as Tevinter?_ Maker, how many nobles had he punished for the same reason since he became King?

… Hadn’t Teagan said something back then? When they stopped in Redcliffe to pass her withdrawal… what was it? _Shit._ That’s right: _“She needs you? Or you need her to need you?”_ Teagan knew all along. And Alistair had denied it from the start.

Anders touched on that too, said Alistair needed to _control his anger._ That was close enough to why he controlled Tess. Fear had made him react with extremes, often demanding she obey him; and others, sometimes.

_Maker._

_Why did Tess ever marry him?_ Why did she marry him _twice?_

… Because Alistair had _made_ her. Hadn’t he? He _made_ her believe she was better off being his wife. She’d believed him when he said he could take care of her if he became King. He just never considered their ideas of nurture meant different things. He thought _everyone_ had the same ideas on wealth and happiness and care.

It was as Tess said: _“Who in their right mind would live with someone who does that?”_ Alistair recalled the rest of that long moment: _“But I wasn’t in my right mind. Was I?” Tess knew._ She knew Alistair had brainwashed her. Maybe she’d known all along. Unlike _all along,_ she had somewhere to escape now. _As she said._

He even thought on their scars. Every lasting scar either of them gained was his fault. How many times had Tess told him she didn’t want to do something? How many times had her instincts told her to turn around yet Alistair _insisted_ he couldn’t do it without her? She’d wanted to turn around at Honnleath, in Haven. She panicked when they neared the Circle tower and _begged_ him not to make her go. She wanted out of the Brecilian forest. She never wanted to go in the Deep Roads. She never wanted to return to Denerim; she _still_ had nightmares of Loghain. But _Alistair insisted_ every time _it was best for them._

They’d thought the _Maker_ had helped them through the Blight; they _both_ believed it. But the Maker _had_ to ensure they _survived_ it. Alistair and Tess were the only Wardens in Ferelden when the Blight needed ending, after all. Maybe Tess _hadn’t_ been born to end the Blight, as Alistair thought, but the Maker _allowed_ her the means to end it _to survive the path Alistair dragged her on._ The means to _survive Alistair’s decisions_ allowed Tess to end the Blight. Because it _needed_ to end.

It fit with what Tess said in her letter: Over time, she ignored when an inner voice told her to speak up, so the Maker put her in a position she could _not_ avoid. She thought the Maker _made_ Alistair _want_ to lie to her _and_ abandon her at Vigil’s Keep. She thought the Maker _made_ Alistair hand her the one person who could give her the help she needed. _Anders._ Anders helped give her life purpose again, he helped give her a new womb so she could be the mother she desired to be. He taught her to control the magic Alistair tried to deny she had. Anders made her a potion she’d needed all her life.

Even more humbling to see Anders look at Tess. To _acknowledge_ the Maker sent her someone who could love her without putting her in danger. Humbling to admit maybe the Maker _had_ made Alistair hand Anders to his wife. The mage not only adored her, but he prided in her strengths. He celebrated with her, instead of seeing it as fear she’d lose interest and leave him. When she struggled, he sought other ways to help her succeed. Anders was proud of _Tess._ It was clear Anders did not approach Tess with expectations like Alistair had. Like Alistair _still_ struggled. Anders wasn’t proud of what Tess _ought_ to be or _could_ be, but of who she already was.

Deep down, Alistair still saw Tess as the woman from his dreams: _the mother of his children._ A flawless homemaker who radiated when her perfect husband doted on her.

But Alistair was far from a perfect husband. And Tess was not a homemaker who’d given him children. _Alistair understood everything now._

All the times Alistair had fought with his wife boiled down to her wanting to reconnect with who she was inside. He’d been _so afraid_ of losing the first person he opened his heart to. And he _let_ his fear drove her away by pretending she was safest in a cage. Alistair taking the easy way out to avoid facing his fears drove Tess away.

Alistair once accused _Tess_ of using _lyrium_ as an easy way out. _When all she’d wanted was out,_ plain and simple.

Yet part of her loved him anyway. She loved him enough to stay married.

But did _she_ love him? … Or only _because_ he’d made her?

Did it count she loved him _anyway_ now? Did it count _she_ felt she loved him?

Alistair felt like he stood watching from above. It was a bigger picture he’d never wanted to see. A picture larger than all Ferelden, larger than the Blight, but he’d drown himself in only a small corner of it, instead of hold it from above like he should have. _But now he saw the whole picture._ And now he saw the cage he’d carved for his wife. A cage welded from decisions he made _outside_ of things out of his control.

He watched from above, and realization weighed him like a stone in water. It was like Tess described her depression now that she had potions to remedy it: _Easier to stay a brick than try to swim up. All those chances to change,_ to react different, to step away, to _listen to his wife._ To listen when Tess asked for an hour outside of a schedule she never wanted. To listen when she wanted him to talk instead of ignore her then yell at her. Chances to _believe_ in her abilities, to _encourage_ her and _praise_ her, rather than believe in abilities _he_ thought she _wanted_ to have. **_Chance_ ** _after_ **_chance_ ** _after_ **_chance_** _._ But he never did.

When all he’d needed to do to see it was _step back and let her be herself._

How could Alistair ever make up for it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	32. A Minor Complication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess spends the last day in Denerim in an array of discomfort and accountability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Glimmer of Hope circa: 1:22 - 3:31, by Ivan Torrent ft Aeralie Brighton ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbpHB9wbDhY)

_Everyone spent their last day in Denerim enjoying themselves. Drinks, fun, a time to forget darkspawn and be carefree. Those who wanted peace and quiet took solitude. Despite our argument days ago when I forbade him from the tavern if I could not do what I wanted, Alistair asked if he could go for drinks. Today, I did not mind. Today, I had plans of my own. While everyone celebrated a last breath before our plunge underground, I demanded Anders’ phylactery from the Grand Cleric._

_My nerves jostled so much I gave myself a headache and air felt thin. I walked in dressed as Commander, not Queen, and slipped a paper with Anders’ real name, and I ordered the Chantry comply. If not because Wardens were outside Chantry laws and I will not tolerate another Templar ambush on my Wardens again, then as a personal favor for the woman who spared Denerim’s Chantry by killing the Archdemon. Anxiety from what my actions might cause raked my veins so hard I did not realize Alistair had followed me until he spoke up. I whirled to see him standing by the closed doors with his hands clasped at his front. He emphasized Anders’ phylactery was no longer a Chantry matter. The mage in question was a Grey Warden and not even the Divine could intervene. The Templars had no jurisdiction to hunt Warden magi. My husband reminded the Grand Cleric he knew how to scry with phylacteries; all Templars learned in case chain of command fell. Alistair would know if the Chantry tried to hide half the phylactery before transport. “The Wardens would not exist if the Maker did not save those worthy of the Sacrifice,”_ _my husband the King told the Grand Cleric. He held her gaze like he was immune to blinking._

_I had no words to express my gratitude. I still have none. Alistair could have spent his last day of full comfort enjoying himself. Instead, he helped me. My husband helped me help the other man I love. His reasoning was personal enough: if the Chantry was willing to make their own laws to ambush Grey Warden magi - and a Healer at that - it worried him they’d create more laws to go after me next. There would be no mercy for me if they learned the Archdemon gave me my magic. The Chantry could claim I was an abomination and needed killing. Alistair isn’t willing to risk that. He will enforce Grey Warden immunity to protect Anders if that’s what it takes to keep me safe from future Chantry agendas._

_Alistair returned to the palace with me instead of joining his friends at the tavern. I sat in his study and he poured shots between sips of my favorite wine until my head no longer ached and breathing came easy again. I was grateful, and alcohol swam through my veins like a river current. When he began touching me, I didn’t stop him. Slow caresses became an affectionate massage. Too much drink and too many hands in all the right places till every new graze left tingling trails on my skin. Before I knew it, we locked in kisses that deepened with fervor and kneading fingers. A groan vibrated against my neck when I move his hand between my legs and showed him how to rub. Alistair was all too eager to learn the new ways to pleasure me. A carnal reunion between me and my husband instigated by helping me protect my other lover._

_And he knew. When Anders returned from the tavern, I didn’t need to say it. He already knew. He knew I slept with my husband again. He looked at me like I had guilt painted all over my face in glowing letters. Anders smiled that sad smile at me when I apologized._

_It reminded me it will be impossible to ever merge my two lives. One day, I must choose between them._

_Today, as all days of late, my heart pulls me more toward Anders than my husband. I still love Alistair, and there is something magical about his naked body on mine. But it is not the same. He looks more like a friend than a lover to me now. I can’t ever love him the same. I want to, but I can’t. It doesn’t happen when I look at him, like I thought it would. Not more than love. Not as a man to fall asleep next to each night. Bonded, but nothing closer._

_I feel like I owe him. I owe him for the times his cage really did help me. For helping me protect Anders._

_Being freed really changes perspective._

_Now I sit here with my thoughts on my husband but my heart with Anders. Unable to read the book on my lap. I’ve been unable to sleep. I tried a hot bath, I tried tea. I came into the library to sit at a window with a story, but my thoughts are too busy. I can’t relax my mind for the life of me tonight._

_My veins warm with approaching Taint. I look over as padded footsteps cross the room and climb the stairs. I can’t help a smile when Anders’ face rises into view._

_“Am I interrupting your thoughts?” he asks._

_A deep sigh loosens my chest. I hadn’t realized I’d been so tense. He sees that sort of stuff in people. “I could use a break from my thoughts.”_

_Anders pushes a heavy chair over. “Are you nervous about going underground again?”_

_“Not really.” I close the book I haven’t been reading. “Actually, the Deep Roads felt quite familiar during the Blight. And I can see in the dark easier since I’ve been a Warden. I’m more worried about the emotional side-effects.” I find his eyes with a forced smile. “Not like we don’t have drama already.”_

_“Being a Warden is probably easier if you don’t have run a country. I’m not complaining, but I see why most Wardens aren’t landowners.”_

_“Except for Weisshaupt.”_

_His face distorts. “Do they even go underground or fight darkspawn?”_

_“Most of them there? I doubt it.” I shake my head. “The First Warden didn’t seem to understand what we endured during the Blight.” I pause. My eyes drift with more thought. Anders warned my antidepressant would not work underground if I had to take stamina potions to fight sleep. Stimulants as strong as stamina potions counter anything for anxiety and depression. It means I’ll wean from my medicine, and then have to start it all over again. I don’t look forward to regressing. Worst case scenario, mixing stimulants with antidepressants may induce mania or paranoia. He said it was a rare effect, but the thought is unnerving. I remember Leliana and Zevran paranoid in the Deep Roads. Leliana tried to starve me, and Zevran thought King Bhelen was a Crow spy. “I hope this thaig isn’t huge. Just another city would be nice. Maybe then we’ll actually return in one month.”_ **Just Darkspawn** _will almost be a delight. The sooner we get out of Kal’Hirol, the better… and we haven’t even been there yet._

_A hand clasps over mine and squeezes. I meet his eyes again, and Anders smiles for me. He tries to radiate assurance, though I see worry in his eyes. “I’ll be there with you the whole time. I promise.”_

_When_ **he** _promises? I believe him._

 

 

_Then, poison from my past:_

_Our departure from Denerim delays when Vaughan Kendell escorts a hooded and cloaked round body before us after morning tea. Vaughan apologizes for showing unannounced but he cannot hide “it” any longer. He pushes back the hood and removes the cloak of the round woman._

_And I can only stare._

_Before me stands Anora, not only round, but swollen with child. Quite swollen._

_I look to my husband for answers I’m not sure he has. Bann Shianni believed Anora ill, but did not know details other than Cailan’s widow failed to show in the Alienage for weeks._

_Gardens. Elven Gardens. Sometimes I forget my husband changed the name of the Alienages._

_But this… seeing Anora so…_

_It stings. It surfaces nightmares of Loghain. Even with a new womb, I cannot grow a baby, but here’s Anora…_

_It feels like one more thing she’s taken from me._

_Vaughan wants our blessing. He wants me to revoke Anora’s servitude so they may marry. He says it’s a sign from the Maker: Anora was declared barren with Cailan, yet she is expecting Vaughan’s child. He believes they are meant to be together._

_I can only stare. I can’t believe this is happening to me right now. This isn’t real._

_This_ **can’t** _be real._

_Anders, Nathaniel, and Zevran step into view to watch, and as my husband speaks, Anders searches me. He knows this is Anora, daughter of the man who poisoned my womb. I’ve told him what Anora did to me that day. He took my old womb out of me, he saw what a Mac Tir did to me. Concern paints his face. As much as he values life, he may want her dead._

_Alistair is as troubled as I am, only unlike me, he has a voice now. In full King countenance, Alistair stares at Anora and Vaughan. Anora was not barren, he informs them. She never was. Cailan sterilized himself; we have the proof in Cailan’s bloodlock cabinet. Vaughan had done well in his progress as Arl, but Alistair could not promote him with Anora as his bride. Anora was judged and needs to continue her sentence until she has corrected the last of her injustices upon the people. Vaughan was played by a woman who only wanted power again, so desperate for it she took a noble’s child. And not just any noble - the very noble who would take her disgraced father’s place as Teyrn of Gwaren. Alistair insists Anora’s pregnancy is nothing more than an attempt to regain what she believes is her birthright. I can’t disagree. Alistair turns to me and stares so hard I can’t look away. My husband reminds us all I once condemned Anora to lose a hand and foot if she was caught interacting outside of servitude. But her pregnancy proves a complication, and Anora knows it. The judgement is still mine to make, and there is proof abound Anora has done more than serve the city._

_I can’t stop staring._

_Does she know I’ve dreamed of motherhood since that day? Does she know I’ve mourned children I’ve never been able to have? Does she care how bad her father hurt me?_

_I ask Anders if he can tell how far she is. Alistair is right. Anora’s pregnancy causes a complication in punishment. To cut off a hand or foot, or both, would mean killing the unborn babe inside her. Anders says from sight, Anora looks about six months along, but he can give a due date if he examines her._

_Anders suggests giving her child to the Chantry. Anora can then be punished after the child is born, and I need not worry for the child. I know what this suggestion means for Anders: another possible Templar to harass and abuse another future mage, and another child growing up without knowing his mother. Alistair also doesn’t like the idea of another child growing up motherless. But how far will Anora go if she knows I will not punish her when she is pregnant? She will trample any peace I have tried to make with my past. She’s done so already half her life. I cannot expect her to stop now, moreso after I sentenced her to humiliation. She will hold that grudge on me till she dies._

_I don’t know what to do. I stare so hard everything blurs out of focus. I can’t tell if I’m staring into oblivion or my eyes water. It’s all coming back, again. Loghain sitting across the table, washing down white wine between bites of fresh arctic fish, telling my father about his assassin prisoner. Loghain watching with pride in his keen silvery eyes as San Amoldo fails to block me and I flip him to his back. Loghain emptying a deep vial of lyrium into a glass, turning red wine violet, his eyes on mine while I drain the glass. I can feel his fingers on my skin all over again, tumbling up from between my legs. I feel fingers no longer existent pinch my nipple and squeeze my breast; my arms cross to hide my bosoms. I feel his fingers on my thigh, hear the smack of his lips as the brandy glass leaves his lips and the mage sits back. I remember too well the boiling acid in my womb. “That’s a good girl,” I hear Loghain’s voice as if he’s right here._

_My body hits something and the sensation of falling brings reality back in focus. Anora and her fucking swollen belly._

_“Lock her in my quarters. She doesn’t leave that room until I say so,” I order. Vaughan protests, Anora protests. I don’t care. Domhnall and Eirik turn Vaughan around and escort him out. Blaire rushes ahead to hurry other maids while Pádraig and Leith escort pregnant Anora to my chambers._

_I can’t ever escape Loghain. Not even after his death. It’s not fair._

_Alistair waits in the corridor with me. I stood in the room watching until Anders felt around Anora’s belly and, and according to her last bleeding, determined her due date in eight to ten weeks. I couldn’t stay in the room after that. Anora lies in my bed six and a half months pregnant._

_I can’t grow a baby past six weeks._

_We sit now. Awkward silence so thick not even Oghren’s axe could chop it. Anders stands with Alistair at the other end of the room, whispering about something. Anora across from me at the tea table doesn’t want to look at me. I can’t look at her either. She only speaks to ask what happened to my scars. But to explain that…_

_I tell her. Everything her father did. Why her father went back to Gwaren only for two months, and why I stayed with them then. Why she almost never saw me in her own house the entire two months. Her father’s lips and hands, teaching me how to pleasure a man - pleasure him - and how it made me think he loved me. It made me feel like I loved him. How I missed my monthly and her father panicked. I tell her why the mage appeared in her house. Why I screamed, why they gagged me. When at last I was allowed to leave, why I couldn’t hold myself up. I recall how it felt as she spat on me and pushed me to the floor. How it felt to crawl out the door of the Teyrn’s castle because Loghain ordered no one help me. What it felt like to see him all over again at Ostagar, and worse: how it felt to learn Loghain ordered my Uncle Rendon to murder my family. I tell of the fear that paralyzed me when I faced him at the Landsmeet when he brought up the contracts he promised would save my life. Aloud I recount how many nightmares I’ve had of Loghain since._

_“To answer your question,” I say to Anora, “I found a replacement womb. The Scientist who operated healed my scars when he healed me from my surgery.” I look at her for the first time since we sat down together. “But I_ **still** _can’t get pregnant. I miscarried. My body doesn’t want to make children. I’m starting to think what your father did went deeper than my womb. Your father_ **massacred** _my ability to be a mother… yet_ **you** _sit here six months pregnant. After disobeying my orders_ **not** _to engage except in servitude.” I stare at her. My brow tightens as if on its own. “You carry on the legacy of your father. You’re_ **growing** _the legacy of a man who can’t stop reminding me how bad he hurt me. Who spent_ **years** _ruining the rest of my life._ **My entire life.”** _Anders is giving me that gaze. That glossy-eyed over-empathetic gaze. I can’t tell what Alistair feels yet, but his stare is firm._

_I’ve never told Alistair the entire story. Unlike Anders who heard when I told the Architect, then later listened with intent to listen, Alistair listens with intent of vengeance. I told my husband I was tortured, poisoned, and cannot bear children, and I told him I loved Loghain. But Alistair knew nothing more. I’ve told him only what I needed to, because he thinks it should make me angry like it does him. When it only tortures me again in my mind. He beheaded Loghain at the Landsmeet when he became King. Now, I suspect Alistair wishes he would have tortured him first._

_“So you’ll condemn my unborn_ **child** _for my_ **father’s** _actions?” Anora’s voice breaks._

 _“No.” I take a loud breath and look at her. “And some of them are_ **your** _actions, as well. But I’m not condemning anyone. You’ll spend the rest of your lie-in here, where you can be monitored.” I feel Alistair’s thoughts: Merciful Tess. “I wish to make sure your child_ **doesn’t become** _your father.” The tea at my lips has long since grown cold. “At least you’ll be some place nice,” I mutter._

_I hear Pádraig’s voice in my head now: You’re getting soft._

_What a fucking way to start a day. To start an expedition. I will never be so glad to see Vigil’s Keep._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	33. How to Prove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being underground again already fruits struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Glimmer of Hope circa: 1:22 - 3:31, by Ivan Torrent ft Aeralie Brighton ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbpHB9wbDhY)  
> [More of You, by Colton Dixon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYXjXi8PtzQ)

_I’ve never been to Knotwood Hills. There was nothing of note in the area before we saw Kristoff’s map. I know hunters frequented the area, but it’s never held personal interest for me. Until now._

_It’s more connected to me than I imagined, though. Nathaniel spies men hanging another from a bare tree. As our party approaches to intervene, the men panic and attack. By the time they fall and we can attend to the hanging man, he is already dead._

_One moment too late, again. This is becoming a habit in my time as Commander._

_Not a lasting habit, I hope._

_A disturbing note nailed to the hanged man’s chest freezes me, then Anders. “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO FILTHY ADULTERERS”. Scribbled clear as day as if it was a message meant for someone expected to be here right now._

_The common folk of Ferelden hang adulterers here. My people hang… people like_ **me** _… here._

_I can’t help but think this is meant for me._

_I can’t look at anyone. Anders turns the note to ash in his hand and tells me to forget it. When nerve rises to look at my husband, Alistair is already staring. Staring like he agrees with the note but also doesn’t want me dead. A look that says he’d see Anders hung for adultery if he could. I see it on his face, too: he thinks the note is meant for my eyes. Who else but Grey Wardens are expected in a place overrun by darkspawn? And which Warden are the rumors of a paramour about?_

_A heavy sigh caves me in from inside. I hate station. I hate being the center of attention. I hate being stuck in something I can’t escape from._

_I hate that_ **Alistair** _wants me all eyes on me when he knows I hate it. I_ **don't want** _everyone to admire me, I_ **don't want** _women everywhere striving to be like me. I imagine warnings like this hanged man wouldn’t happen if he hadn’t shoved me on a pedestal for all to see. It’s because of him anyone in this country even regards me._

_My cousin has the sense to distract me and Anders with the exposed thaig. He pulls us away by linking his arms through ours, and drags us to a bridge. In an instant, I am grateful._

_Kal’Hirol is something else. Fereldan architecture does not compare to dwarven construction. I look down at the hidden world peeking from below and I am caught in intrigue. An_ **entire** _hidden world right below hunting grounds. If dwarves still lived here and the surface not crumbled, a community would thrive beneath Amaranthine and no one up top would be the wiser. It’s like a glimpse of history. I feel like I’m here to excavate, not hunt darkspawn… or be reminded I’m Queen with a paramour. My cousin always knows how to distract me._

_Nathaniel points to a winding wooden staircase with acute angles. “I fell down a set of stairs like that once,” he says._

_I look at him. Before I can ask how he survived, Anders quips, “I knew it! You’re secretly dead but a spirit keeps you on the brink. I’ll have to kill you, now, for the safety of everyone.”_

_“May I do it?” Pádraig asks._

_“Such humor should be left for after our mission,” Nathaniel advises._

_“You hang around Justice too much.” Anders shakes his head._

_“Or I could push you both down the stairs so your deaths thin the Veil and attract demons, and you become abominations yourselves,” my cousin keeps a straight face._

_“The Commander already has a capable spirit,” Justice refers to himself. “There is no need to attract more possessions. The next may be unstable.”_

_Anders grins. “Justice, are you jealous another spirit might make a better Warden?”_

_“No!” he insists. “Envy is for demons. I feel_ **no** _such compulsion, nor do I need to prove myself against another corpse.”_

_“Does that include me?” Sigrun asks. “You know, because I’m dead, of course.”_

_“You do not count as a corpse. Besides, I understand dwarves are ineligible for possession.”_

_“Eligible for possession?” Anders chuckles. “You make it sound like we need permission to be possessed. Like applying for a job. What are the_ **hours** _for possession? Will I get major holidays off?”_

_“Keep that in mind,” I say. “Kristoff was the only person worthy of possession without needing to apply first.”_

_“To get away without applying, I must be a_ **corpse** _first?” Anders sighs in feigned disappointment._

_“In other words, we are all unworthy,” Nathaniel jokes._

_My boys - my Wardens - are always here to make it better._

 

_Then we near the entrance the boys used when they met Sigrun. Vines like melting jellied, decaying flesh send my veins ablaze like angry wasps. Pods that look like wasted cocoons sit shriveled in bunches, and upon descending into the depths, the mire of flesh begins. It sits open for all Amaranthine to contract the disease._

_Zevran makes a noise with a hand on his belly. Alistair’s trying not to look at the ground. The stench of a broodmother is unforgettable no matter how hard one tries. Worse now that Kal’Hirol so resembles a broodmother’s lair._

_“This is definitely a nest,” I confirm as I lead my party with Zevran._

_“You can tell already?” Anders looks around in apprehension as daylight dims behind us._

_“Unfortunately,” I answer. “This is far too reminiscent of the dwarven broodmother in the Dead Trenches.”_

_“How far did the Legion get before you were overwhelmed, Sigrun?” Alistair asks. I do a double-take at my husband as he, too, looks around at the narrow corridor around us._

_Shit. I almost forgot he’s claustrophobic. He doesn’t haven’t problems with it on the surface._

_“Far enough to hit traps and waves of darkspawn. They spilled out from the main fortress like they had numbers to spare,” Sigrun says._

_“Are there more open spaces than this? Or is it tunnels from here on?” Alistair tries to hide dread on his face, but I see it. He blacked out in the Carta tunnels. Overheated, nosebleeds. I remember he said his head hurt like no headache he’d had before._

_“Open like the surface? No, but there are open caverns. Like if Orzammar was crawling with darkspawn and filth, only no diamond quarter or market,” Sigrun replies._

_“Not like the Carta tunnels, then?” Alistair asks. His eyes fall to mine, and my husband winces. He’s already breathing faster than usual. If we don’t reach an open cavern soon, he won’t last long._

_He should have stayed home. He should have let me handle this._

_“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Sigrun shakes her head. “There’s even a lake in the cavern ahead. Don’t worry. I mean, at least not about the walls closing in. At least as far we got before, it’s pretty open. It used to be a city, after all. Nothing like the actual Deep Roads. Except for all the darkspawn.”_

_“Speaking of caverns ahead…” Zevran trails off, and all a sudden, our next few steps open us to a new world. A world we could not preview with the solid stone corridor around us._

_Not only a lake. Buildings, what look like the old houses from Ortan thaig, storage, stages. And a waterfall._

_A fucking waterfall underground._

_Do darkspawn know how rare a waterfall in Ferelden is? A waterfall underground is even more impressive. Not to mention an entire lake._

_“Was the waterfall part of the original thaig?” Nathaniel asks._

_“I don’t know. But I know they’re rare even on the surface,” Sigrun says. “A waterfall in the most expensive thaig would only add to the appeal. Dwarves treat this kind of stuff like a blessing from the Ancestors.”_

_Oghren snorts. “Provings outside the Proving.”_

_Sigrun wrinkles her nose. “No better way to show your birth was blessed than by living with an underground waterfall. The glory of nobles.”_

_“You’re_ **talking** _to a bunch of nobles, you know,” I tease._

_“You’re not dwarven nobles. There’s a difference,” she dismisses. Laughing eyes tell me she’s not really upset._

_“Hardly,” Anders says. “And_ **I’m** _not noble. Mages aren’t_ **allowed** _to be noble in Ferelden.”_

_“You’re a noble in Amaranthine,” Nathaniel tells him._

_“The only good thing that came from the King giving your home to your cousin, right?” Anders walks ahead with a deep breath._

_“Not the only good thing,” Nathaniel reminds us of our bond. It would not have happened if Alistair hadn’t given Vigil’s Keep to the Wardens._

_The scowl on Alistair’s face as he looks away says he regrets all of it. Every action he made regarding me as Commander over Vigil’s Keep led me into Anders’ arms._

_“You sound bitter, mage.” Pádraig smirks like he’s been waiting for a chance to prod him._

_“Do I? No, I don’t mean to. I’m not…” Anders breathes deep again, shaking his head. “I don’t do well in enclosed spaces. Usually when I’m in them, I’m alone. No one’s there to tell me how I sound.”_

_“Enclosed spaces?” I echo, as Alistair groans: “Oh, great. You too?”_

_Anders glances back. “If you do better in open caverns, you’re better off than me,” he tells Alistair. His eyes fall to me, fighting a flood of shame on his face._

_“Why didn’t you say anything?” I go to him. Standing out of the stone corridor doesn’t seem to change his tension._

_Anders shrugs and forces a smile. “I’m the only Healer. There’s no way I could watch you and Nate walk off knowing you’ll be overwhelmed. I can’t…” he trails off in discomfort. “I didn’t want to watch only one of you come back. Or neither of you,” he murmurs._

_It’s so dark here my gloves match the shadows on his face. His eyes watch my lips as I say his real name under breath, then he searches me._

_A faint meow sounds from an armored pocket on his chest. From the corner of my eye, I see Pádraig shake his head. So many complained Anders brought Ser Pounce-a-Lot, but now I know why. I also think his mother’s pillow is under his armor. A cat and the pillow were his only sources of comfort in the past. Anders hopes they’ll help calm him here._

_“If I keep busy, I should be fine.” He doesn’t sound convinced though._

_“Good idea,” Zevran speaks up. “You comfort_ **that** _claustrophobic._ **I’ll** _comfort_ **this** _one. Come with Zev, you sexy chunk of Warden King.” He keeps a straight face._

 _“I’m not_ **coming** _with you, Zev, not around all this filth.” Alistair shakes his head, also moving out to the Tainted grotto._

_“But you’ll do it later, right? When we return?” I try not to smile. Alistair turns away, but not before I see a grin of embarrassment. “Maybe kiss him, Zevran. He should want to, then”_

_“I’ll even find a clean slab for you,” Oghren jokes, joining me and Anders. Anders smiles like he’s glad for the humor but can’t believe my fetishes follow us even to darkspawn filth. Oghren claps him on the back. “Come on, kid. Thaigs last forever. You’ll be fine after we crack a couple heads open.”_

_“_ **This** _thaig didn’t last forever,” Anders points out._

 _“Actually, it did,” Sigrun is perky as always. “The_ **surface** _is what didn’t last.”_

_“Thank you. That eases my fears entirely,” his voice drops for the wry retort._

_“You always find a way to brighten the day, Sigrun,” Nathaniel pecks._

_“You’re welcome!” She grins as she walks past._

_Anders has no choice but to stay busy. Not paces past a half-eaten Tainted corpse of a Legionnaire lay, genlocks lie in wait. With all the blighted filth, we could not feel them ahead of time. We walk right into a clearing where they spring from the shadows. Like the spawn we fought at The Keep and Wending Wood, these are more cunning than any during the Blight. Quicker, more limber; as if they indeed studied Zevran and me and passed on our techniques. They move so fast I must dance and jump around my party to hit one. Arrows snake around body and blade, each cut I make slows or ignites my target. The wide swings of Oghren and Pádraig hit sometimes two at once, and Alistair’s brutal bash inspires Justice to mutilate with his shield._

_I yell for my men to drop, and darts of ice and rock fly through our opposition. Anders summons a flashing storm; my husband twitches, but takes his fear of lightning out on spawn. Our mabari howl to stun and overwhelm. But it is not enough. More genlocks spill in, as if they are water and we are a sinking hole. If not for paralyzing magic, we might tire before the genlocks fall._

_As the last die from Oghren’s blade and flying stone, we learn why so many genlocks attacked at once. Hurlocks gathered beyond. A Blight mage, another of what Riordan called a General. Grinning their lip-less grins, grunting out laughter, clapping weapons together in assumed triumph. Or to display pride they played us. All in armor no spawn two years ago would have been able to craft. They used their own as fodder to wait for us to exhaust._

_I know the Architect helped me. He had no motive, no guarantee I would not turn on him. But I see his work in the spawn before us. I should have killed him when I had the chance._

_The hurlock magi raises a staff; blighted mana stirs Tainted air and so my veins. I have to do something drastic. I have no choice, the others' don't have time to catch breath and regain stamina. Picturing a blackened heart in my hands, I yank on air. Easier than pulling water; as horrid as that sounds. It breaks free of the chest with a crack, and the lurched hurlock hesitates before falling. Someone behind me makes a noise of disgust, the spawn jump back and clutch hilts tighter. The General beside its dead mage glares as the oozing, tainted organ hits my palm with a wet smack._

_They didn’t expect such magic. At least I have that going for me._

_The General leads the advance. I hold an arm out to stop Oghren, hardening the black heart with ice. Oghren protests as they draw closer, Pádraig protests, and Alistair; Justice holds them back as I command._ **Stand down,** _I override their demurral. When the whole party needs rest, I must create something to buy us time, or outright kill. Going into battle unable to swing a sword for tired arms is a sure way to get scars. I see apprehension on the leathery skeletal faces before me, as well. They run, but they don’t know if they should. They wonder why we aren’t running to meet them._

_As soon as the heart freezes over, I aim. Objections again; if the spawn get too close, we will have no room to swing our weapons. Oghren holds Alistair back this time. The hurlock amid the small hoard leans to avoid impact, but that’s what I want. Tevinter is where I learned so much about ice magic; how to freeze what, how solid ice can harm. Learning to control my magic allowed me to experiment and manipulate it. It’s one of the easier elements to move. It bends to my will now. Jutting jagged arms pierce through spawn as if they were bread, pinning them together from the frozen heart in the air. Only one escaped reach, but not for long. An arrow and a chunk of stone fly on either side of me. The force explodes its head, leaving nothing behind but the rock behind it splattered black._

_“That was a tie,” Nathaniel tells Anders._

_“Was not.” Anders shakes his head. “Since when do arrows burst skulls like that?_

_“No mention of the frozen heart I threw,” I add, turning to check the state of my party. For the moment, breath has returned, and no one seems wounded._

_“You had to show off, though?” Pádraig asks me. “What if that trick dinna worked?” A glance around says Alistair feels the same way._

_“What?” Sigrun laughs like she heard wrong. “You’re joking, right? Would you_ **rather** _they charge head on?_

_“You must have been so much fun during the Blight,” Anders chides, walking up. “Don’t listen to him. He sounds jealous,” he tells me._

_“He looks convinced. Maybe you should resurrect them so he can fight them,” Sigrun suggests._

_“That’s a good idea. The rest of us will move across the bridge first. Then you can have the darkspawn all to yourself, Pádraig.” Anders turns me away and offers me his waterskin. “I’m serious, just ignore that.”_

_“I agree. It’s time you all stop pretending she’s not capable.” Nathaniel stops near us and drinks from his own skin, keeping his bow and an arrow ready in the other hand. “Clearly she is.”_

_“And she doesn’t even have to be a_ **Templar** _for it,” Anders’ remark is directed at the silent rant on Alistair’s face. My husband who risked killing me with Templar spells in hopes of forcing me to defend myself._

_I suspect my husband’s tongue is about to break off between his teeth. Though if he bit his tongue hard enough for that, it may only be excuse to open his mouth and let words fly. “Shut up, mage.” The look on his face indeed matches Pádraig’s doubt. I’m surprised he doesn’t lambaste me for putting myself and others in danger. Although, Alistair doesn’t need to scold aloud, his eyes say all the words: What were you thinking, Tess? Did you think they’d just stop? They won’t wait for you to hit them. They’re savage, they’ll either eat you or try to drag you off. You can’t stop us from attacking. You don’t get to prevent me protecting you!_

_I glare at my husband for words he never actually said. But he returns a glare like he’s arguing right back in his head._

_Nathaniel is right. They can’t stop thinking I’m incapable. Even after displays right before their eyes. It’s like all they can do is criticize. Self-formed habits they refuse to forget. Or an impulse they’re too meek to control. After all I’ve fucking done since I’ve known my husband or Pádraig._

_And the feeling of incompetence returns. Worthlessness. Not good enough; not good enough for Alistair because it wasn’t his idea to begin with. One of the barbs I’ve been running from my entire life since Loghain branded me._

_Anders guides me away from those who question me, insisting I forget them. His hand lingers under my arm where no armor hides me. With a smile that says his claustrophobia means nothing if I need him, Anders says I did amazing magic, he’s proud of me. I should be proud of myself. “Don’t doubt yourself,” he says with a tender squeeze._

_Is it any wonder I prefer the freedom of Vigil’s Keep?_

_The obstacle across the bridge means Oghren’s turn to groan. Deepstalkers; thank the Maker these things aren’t enhanced by the Architect. Every swing of his axe brings a new curse, some in his native Dwarven tongue he’s never used with us before. Hard to hit and hard to avoid, though still deepstalkers take one stab each, or a proper kick. Oghren detests them for the venom they spit; I’d take them over darkspawn. And for an odd rest, this area is free of darkspawn filth._

_Anders needs a break, and no better place while we have the chance. He leans against an old house, eyes closed, trying to meditate in this place where Taint rages through our veins. Too much rock, he says. Swears he hears it cracking and crumbling, falling. Says it sounds like a slamming prison door. The more he talks of his claustrophobia, the more uneven his breath grows. Jingling keys as a Templar walks away, leaving him alone and cold in the dark. In a room a room that gets smaller each time they lock him up._

_I look at my cousin, who stands offering water. Nathaniel’s brows hang pinched in concern. Anders’ claustrophobia stems from Templars, it’s not something he can turn off when he needs to._

_Once, Anders says while he shakes his head between his knees, the cell was so small he couldn’t stand up all the way. Couldn’t stretch his arms out. The only light he had came from a barred window atop the door. Every time a cell door slammed, it rattled through the floor. Another time, an experiment gone awry three floors below his cell blew the wall out and left Anders no room to move or he risked falling to the courtyard below. The Templars left him clinging to the wall for hours in hopes breathing wouldn’t loosen more bricks. The prisons were moved to the basement after that, where it was darker, where insects and rats crawled in. It’s all he can think about when he looks around and see so much stone, when we walked through the corridor, when he sees The Children. Even with his hand on Ser Pounce-a-Lot, when he isn’t focused on fighting or healing, it’s hard to keep steady. When Anders sits up to drink, beads of sweat line his face._

_There’s little I can do now to help him through this; there’s just nothing here but stench and darkness. Not even the sound of the waterfall distracts him. The best I can do is pull water from the falls and hold a cold mist around him. Nathaniel sits next to him, squeezing Anders’ hand with each count to four, providing a beat to breathe to. I chill my hand till it sparkles like frost, and a clear, full breath rolls through Anders as I touch him. Progress, at last; his relief emanates. He holds the back of my leg and tilts his head so I reach his face better. I stroke his nose, cover his forehead and cheek. Each moment brings less gasping. When I frost my other hand and push my fingers along his scalp, his eyes open. He searches me like he’s ashamed._

_Reminds me of my own shame when I saw the aftermath of my destructing withdrawals. No one deserves to feels ashamed for what they can’t control._

_I smile at the clear honey eyes below me. “You look awfully tempting in all that sweat. Reminds me of that night out in the rainstorm. How do I know you’re not getting all hot and bothered so I’ll ask you to braid my hair?” I tease him._

_Nathaniel pauses counting to grimace. “I now regret holding your hand, Anders.” I can’t help a giggle, and Anders leans against me in a quiet laugh that shakes his chest._

_A tender squeeze to the back of my knee warms my body. It’s almost nothing, yet down here where everything is alien, such a small gesture is tremendous affection. I massage his scalp with icy hands while his head rests at my armored belly. A small moment, but it is ours. I hope it helps him._

_“What did I tell you? I had_ **one** _condition.”_

_I look over. Alistair stares at us - stares at Anders - like he’s on the last straw. My husband’s glare shifts to me like I’m being unfair. As if there was no point in making up in Denerim._

_I feel_ **he’s** _being unfair. If_ **he** _was hyperventilating and dizzy, I would stop the entire caravan till he recovered. I don’t see Anders complaining when I comfort Alistair._

 _Anders hold up a finger. Shallow breath returns as he peeks over. “One moment. Just_ **one.** _Can you not give me_ **that** _right now?” I also think he only ever sees Alistair as a Templar. He’s never known Alistair the Warden who was glad to be free of the Chantry’s shackles._

_They have more in common than they realize._

_“You think you’re the only one who has a hard time underground?” Alistair challenges._

_I cock my head at my husband. For certain he’s overreacting right now. Jealous Alistair - Jealistair, he once called himself. “When_ **you** _need to rest, I’ll be there for_ **you, also.”** _I don’t sound it, though. My tone reacts to his jealousy like I wish I could with words. “As I was there when you couldn’t handle the Deep Roads and the Carta tunnels.” Or tried to be there for him; when he didn’t scream at me and for Po to defend me. “Right now,_ **our** _Healer needs me.”_

_“You have to admit, though,” Oghren says with a nod, “your head is in a convenient position right now. Commander, maybe you should get naked and cool off, too. You know, for the good of the team. And then your little mage boyfriend can make you sing a little. Or a lot.” Good old Oghren._

_It’s hard not to smile. “Suck on fireball, Ogh.” My cheeks break in a grin when he winks at me._

_“That’s not a bad line,” Anders huffs. I look down as he sits back. “You should say that in battle.”_

_“Maker, I never think of those things in battle.” I shake my head. “At least not the good stuff.” Anders chills his water in the pouch. I watch him hold my hand still while he drinks. “That’s not a bad idea,” I tell him. His head tilts so he can look at me easier. “Sometimes I talk aloud when I fight to keep myself focused.”_

_“Mm.” Zevran nods and gestures to me as he swallows water. “I do that, too. I hum, though, not talk. But it works.”_

_“You’re not seriously advocating this?” Alistair demands of his elf._

_I turn my head as Zevran utters, and I ignore them. Underground is already getting to Alistair, and it’s not near as hot as the Deep Roads._

_“Yes, humming works, also,” I tell Anders. Apprehension of Alistair tops his anxiety of enclosed spaces. He moves his gaze back to me like he hopes it’s okay to ignore Alistair. “I was taught to strike when the Fight or Flight mode kicks in, but adrenaline happens from both sides in battle. It’s why I talk sometimes. Other times I talk in my head. Especially around darkspawn underground where… my Taint feels comfortable, sometimes it takes conscious effort to remember who I shouldn't kill. It’s like kaddis for me.”_

_“I wondered why you sing during battle.” Nathaniel catches my gaze._

_“Remember when Leliana used to sing during battle?” Zevran speaks again._

_“I always thought that was strange,” Alistair says. He sounds bitter yet trying not to be. Zevran must have said something to make him reconsider chiding Anders’ claustrophobia._

_“It didn’t do much against darkspawn. But it confused people a lot.” Zevran’s eyes move, lost in thought. “it confused me, once, as well, and a stupid bandit punched me. I still have not forgiven her for that. I swear my nose is not as straight as it was before.”_

_“She had excellent control when she sung, though,” I recall. “Now that I think of it, that may have been_ **her** _focus, singing. She used to strum that lute just to feel the sound vibrate. Remember that?”_

_“The Commander doesn’t sing like that, though,” Oghren says. “At least, not when her door is open and her clothes are on.”_

_Alistair growls. My head falls into my palms. Anders holds me tighter with a huff that vibrates through my armor. His fingers at my hip fold into a crude gesture, and Oghren laughs._

_“The point was,” my voice muffles through my glove. Anders and Nathaniel chuckle with voices behind me. “-talking aloud may help you stay busy. At the least… if we’re too far away and can’t reach you in time…” I can’t finish it. I don’t want to think about not reaching him in time._

_“He’ll be fine,” Nathaniel assures me. “I’ll be with him. And if they get past Oghren for some reason, you’ll be there. We’ll survive this place.” My cousin looks around. Neither he or I fear this place like my lovers do. But with Alistair giving in to jealousy and our Healer not at his best, I hope my cousin is right._

_There is little time to rest between battles, though. While Alistair fares far better in open caverns like this, Anders needs us to keep him focused. He accompanied us as Healer, yet if he hangs back to watch for someone in need of aid, his mind cheats him. Anders must make fighting a priority, instead of healing. It’s the only way. But the rock is always here. The heavy stone, the surface cavities where it crumbled, the uneven walls made by rock slides, it’s always here, all around him. It’s always in the background when he finishes throwing his magic._

_How long have we been down here already? At least Sigrun still has Stone Sense. She’s our only source to tell time down here._

_Right as my cousin and I wonder where the grub spawn are, we reach the top of the hill and a courtyard to the fortress and… cocoons. They are the ones Sigrun recalls, only this time, they are over three times larger. Like the full cocoons me and the boys found in Blackmarsh. Oghren moves up beside me, and our eyes meet. He almost lost his liver last time he saw cocoons like these. If Anders hadn’t been there… I look at him, then Nathaniel. Justice holds his sword and shield, expectant as we are. We stand outside the walls and wait. For movement, for sounds. For proof they may not be in there at all. For anything._

_It’s almost unnerving to wait like this. Last time, they did not emerge until Nathaniel leaned his head right over. None of us want to repeat that._

_But I don’t think they’ll show themselves unless we do it first._

_I take a deep breath and pull dust into a solid stone. “Wait here,” I whisper. As if the Children can hear us but not feel us. Nathaniel hisses my name in caution as I step forward. Someone’s breath catches when the stone in my hand ignites in violet flames. Alistair whispers, someone hushes him. I turn the rock, heating it as hot as I can stand. An arrow slides out of a quiver behind me. I have to force myself to breathe. I can’t walk without loose gravel grinding beneath my metal boots._

_I must be insane to creep out here alone. Another tale for Brother Genitivi when I return to Denerim. He loves all these Eminent Death tales._

_Sets of cocoons spread out around me. None within reach. Almost double the count off in a corner I could not see from the entrance. Another deep breath, and I toss the rock to a nearby clutch._

_Here’s to hoping I can run faster than they crawl out._

_The rock hits the top of a cocoon; I swear every man behind me gasps at once. Before anything even moves, I swell the flames till the rock explodes like a small bomb. All at once, they burst through, while a muffled screech fades from the cocoon I blew up._

_My feet move so fucking fast I trip. Shouts behind me, arrows fly. Every fucking curse I know races through my head as I scramble backwards till I have room to shoot rock from the ground like a palisade. Only my brilliant idea impales a skittering Childer and blood sprays. A shimmering blue wall appears before me, stopping the acid in mid air._

_Air returns to my lungs so hard it hurts. I look up at Anders, and Nathaniel grabs my arm and yanks me up. What the fuck was I thinking? I can’t even thank him for breathing so hard. My cousin looks me up and down and pats my cheek before turning with a ready arrow. My mouth is so dry I can’t talk. Thank the Maker Anders is a step ahead of me. He nods, mana already surging with a familiar peachy glow. He’ll paralyze them. It will buy me time._

_I wet my mouth and swallow and concentrate my own mana, but as I turn around, Alistair’s shield comes down on my rock barricade._

_“No! NO!!Don’t!” I yell. But they don’t listen. Alistair, Pádraig, Eirik, Leith, and Ronson smash the palisade and charge with Zevran. Justice holds Oghren back. “Fall back! Alistair! Pádraig! PULL BACK NOW!” My hands are ready, I mean to scorch it all! Why the fuck aren’t they listening? The pulsing at my hands won’t last forever. Anders can’t paralyze forever. Poisonous blood flies through the air and Pádraig curses. “NO! PULL BACK!!” I scream._ **“NOW!!”**

_“Commander!” Oghren growls. Nathaniel behind us looses another arrow and repeats my yell._

_Alistair swears so loud he echoes. Time slows before my eyes as my husband’s head knocks back._ **“ALISTAIR!!!”** _Oghren holds me back this time. Zevran also calls out. Alistair makes a noise of surprise and rebounds kicking while Pádraig drives his sword straight down._

_I have to re-light my hands. Anders behind me reminds me to breathe, deep breaths._

_What if this doesn’t work?_ **Nothing** _gets past Alistair and Pádraig in combat, but these things are._

_“Tess?” Anders is unsure all a sudden. My eyes focus on a jolt of lightning that leaps between grub._

**Lightning?** _What about paralyzing? I glance back as he throws jagged ice and follow it to the fight. The Children almost don’t react. Paralysis didn’t work. Magic - normal magic - isn’t doing a fucking thing. “Shit.” Over a dozen fucking grub - if not more that haven’t emerged yet - and not a single one took the spell. How can they all resist that? Morrigan paralyzed a fucking_ **bronto** _once! Why doesn’t it work on these?? What are we -- Shit shit FUCK!! And Alistair or the others aren’t retreating. “GET OUT! NOW!!” I pull more mana into my hands. Oghren and Nathaniel yell again to fall back. Sigrun yells while she nocks another arrow; she’s not denting either. The men ignoring me spend more time blocking. Maker help me, how can I fry these things if our men don't move?_

_Leith yells his sword is corroding. All Zevran’s managed is a few cuts and a few small legs ripped off. There’s a hole in Eirik’s shield, and Alistair leaps away to avoid a scythed arm. A Childer knocks Pádraig down from behind, but before it can crawl up, my cousin’s arrow pierces through; Pádraig covers his face as another arrow sprays poison. Anders waves a hand and slams his staff, and the Childer flies into another, allowing Pádraig to scramble back up. Anders yells the retreat this time._

_But they don’t listen._

_I can’t do anything yet! I can’t cast this fucking Burst with them all right where they shouldn’t be! I can’t even_ **try** _with them in the way! Why aren’t they fucking listening?!! Am I not fucking_ **allowed** _to use my magic now?_

_“Anders-!” I don’t need to finish._

**“Anything** _then!” He pauses to summon a stronger rush of flame._

_I only have one thing left. If Alistair and my fucking guard won’t let me use my magic - won’t let me use a fucking planned spell meant to scorch all living creatures - all I have is my daggers. My shoulders rise high and fall low with my breath. Another full breath to bring my mana back up. I can’t make as strong a Veil cloak as Justice can. I hope this one will do. At least I’ll be able to get them out of the way up close. My shell tingles my skin._

_“Tess?” Anders calls for as I pull my daggers and step forward. “Tess! No!”_

_“Tesslyn!_ **Andraste!** _NO! EVERYONE OUT!! NOW!!” Nathaniel yells._

_“Sod it, Commander!!”_

_My Wardens realize what this means. But the men fighting up close still don’t turn away._

_The Children spray their acid with each cut, but that’s where I have to be. Close enough to cut. Rock rises before me as it does in my mind. Extend myself again; magic that isn’t mine wraps a second enchantment on my blades. I sprint and jump off the risen rock, and land hard. Rose shakes the ground, shooting shards of ice that reach through the ground and shoot up like a palisade of spears around me. Pádraig jumps back in a yelp. I feel the water inside him, it lets me throw him back like it’s waited for my command._

_Alistair can’t finish a curse with the ground sliding beneath his feet. As soon as he’s down, I throw him as well. Stone hits a Childer behind me; I whip around and flip Rose, turning my head away to cut; ice from beyond freezes the body and splatter of acid. A barrier around Leith, freeze it, stab Rose straight through a grub face and shake the ground again; Leith in the barrier rolls away. I push Zevran back with a wall of ice and cracking vines swallow him up; Anders nods at me before they’re closed up. Daggers of rock fly from my hand into another standing grub at Eirik. Force and a chittering clack at my back, then relief in a blur of bright purple._

_The Fade comes into view as someone pulls me up. The scene before me now is tainted olive green with a distant floating city. “Commander,” the words vibrate my throat as if they are mine._

_Justice._

_I’ve never done this before. Never fought with Justice inside his Veil shell. I feel every arm, every swing. Every bash and stab. Four arms fighting different ways. When I light my daggers in spirit fire, the shield and sword ignite as well. Ice impales from one hand and slams a shield with another, and another raises rock to move Ronson out of reach. The other swings, stabs, jolts Pádraig back once more. Weaving within and around myself to leap and twist. Two of my arms raise stone like blades and spin, the other two reach around to block and deflect._

_The Fade beyond vanishes with a waning tingle on my skin. Bright purple sucks into my corpse like he moves through fog. I turn to see Justice step away._

_“Commander.” Cloudy gray eyes glow purple as the last of his shell dissipates._

_But I can’t respond. Movement of a last grub, not yet dead but dying, leaving a trail of leaking poison as it tries to crawl back to a cocoon. Before I can raise my arm, Pádraig jumps back in and slams his blade through twice. I yell out too late: swinging his sword up sprays his face with fresh blood. Pádraig staggers away with a scream; my husband yells for his friend._

_I march over and spin him. Almost his entire right cheek sizzles with acid. FUCK. I can’t reprimand him like I want to right now. I can’t even hold him still to get a thorough look. Nathaniel and Anders call out. Alistair scolds me when I slam his General against the wall; I don't have a choice, I need Pádraig static to help him._

_I’ve only theorized this before. I thought I could pull it from the grub if they house water, like people, but I can’t now. I can’t pull any water now because I might pull Pádraig’s, not the acidic blood. I brace his shoulder and hold my hand away from his face. I snap at him to keep still; I don’t think I can ask for less than twitching in attempt to not scream._

_Acid, just pull the acid! Just pull Childer blood. You can do this, Tess._

_What the fuck is_ **in** _Childer blood? Besides acid? I haven’t been able to bend anything I don’t know the ingredients of. I blame fucking Tevinter for this science shit!_

_Acid, just the acid. The poison! Pull the fucking poison before he loses his cheek!!!_

_As if it was kicked awake, bright oily liquid rips out from flesh. In disgust and panic it might touch me, I fling it away._

_Pádraig’s staring when I turn back. Wincing, chest heaving, his dark umber eyes search me. I can’t tell if he’s grateful, or frightened of me._

_His face is a raw fucking mess. Scarlet, swelling, his own blood seeping out. I can’t tell if he even has skin left in some spots. He might as well have had venom and hot cinders rubbed in. Pádraig will scar something vicious. This will not heal with a single, simple session._

_I step away from him. I’m still not quite sure what I did. “Anders?” My voice breaks; either effort now or screaming moments ago. I only now realize how hard I’m breathing._

_Anders is already here, as is Nathaniel with a vial of spider venom; guess we don’t need overpowering poisons now. Anders turns Pádraig’s head for a closer look; Pádraig hisses. My Healer looks at me once more for a smile that melts me; proud, supportive. “Good job,” he praises._ **“Great** _job." Relieved as I am. His eyes shine for me. He looks back at the General with a scar warning._

_Alistair pushes through, and the warm feeling of being prided in vanishes. He curses at the wound while Anders’ hands glow creamy gold at Pádraig’s cheek._

_“How bad does it look?” Pádraig asks, his eyes straining to see Alistair._

_“Not as sexy as the scar on my legs,” Zevran jokes._

_Pádraig winces. “What about the dragon burn on my back?”_

_“Definitely not.”_

_“That was not heroic,” I tell Pádraig. His eyes land on me like he wishes he hadn’t. Alistair narrows his eyes as if to say I could be more sympathetic. “That is_ **not** _a trophy.” And my husband’s glare hardens like now I’m being an utter bitch._

 _He not only ignored me during battle, but now_ **I’ve** _done something wrong._ **Again.** _Maker, is this real? This plain and simple can’t happen here. We already don’t want to_ **be** _here. But now getting them out of a battle they couldn’t win is_ **my** _fault?_

 **“None** _of this was_ **heroic!”** _my voice echoes. I don’t know if I really yelled or if it’s that quiet now. My throat is sore from screaming earlier. Eyes meet mine as I look around. I don’t look at the ones who obeyed. “When I tell you to stay back, you fucking stay back! Am I clear?” Their sheer stupidity fans the fire my husband’s glare sparks. Too reminiscent of every time I told Alistair not to do something and he made me do it with him anyway. We_ **always** _came out scarred and traumatized. Alistair and Zevran fucking know better! “YOU PUT US IN DANGER!!” I shout; my feet back up again. I want them to understand. We had a fucking plan for if we got overwhelmed and couldn’t fight up close. I believed it would have worked! “I told you all to stay back but_ **none** _of you listened, and you put us all in danger!! We can’t remedy their blood! It’s pure fucking acid! We_ **told** _you this in_ **Denerim!”** _I hold up my hand and shake my head when Alistair opens his mouth. He’s still frowning at me. I’m still being unfair to him. “When I say stay back, YOU FUCKING STAY BACK! I will_ **not** _risk myself_ **or** _my Wardens for your stupidity again!_

 _“That includes_ **you,** _Alistair,” I enforce,_ **“and** _Zevran!_ **Pádraig!** _You fucking know better! Next time it might not be a surface wound._ **Next** _time it might be your_ **wrist,** _or your_ **neck.** _Next time it I might not be there to yank it off you! I didn’t even know I could_ **do** _that! If I fucking order you to stay back, you_ **stay back!** _That goes for_ **all** _of you! STOP UNDERESTIMATING ME!!” I scream. Alistair knows I mean him. I also mean Pádraig and the guard, and Zevran. Alistair’s entire entourage. Because they do that so well. “I_ **know** _what I’m talking about and I_ **know** _how to get things done, and unlike you who prefer the safety of Denerim,_ **I’ve** _actually_ **fought** _these before!_ **We** _have!” I gesture to my Wardens. “I don't care if you think you can! We had a_ **plan** _and you_ **didn't follow** _it! For_ **glory,** _or_ **whatever** _you didn't follow it for. Your pride means nothing down here! NOTHING!!” my face stretches for one last scream._

_The cavern is silent. If darkspawn are near, they’re watching, curious why a Warden yells. Eyes of shame fall away from me, some with frowns and tight jaws. Alistair holds my gaze longer than most, though he wears the strongest frown._

_I know what he meant to do. Like Pádraig, he meant to end the grub before they reached the weaker ranks. He tried to prove he could fight for me. Prove he’s still capable and can protect me; prove I still need him. In open battle with known opponents on terrain we knew, it would have been acceptable._

_But he participated in the obstacle that made me risk myself when magic could have stopped the Children from afar. He hindered us by ignoring his wife again. When it’s one of the things we’ve argued about in Denerim._

_I look to Pádraig. Bright raw flesh glows under Anders’ healing spells. We’ll need to make camp so Pádraig can heal right. Otherwise strain of battle will rip the scabs and welcome in fungus spores, or Taint. Either can be lethal in this atmosphere._

_Anders searches my eyes while he heals. Sympathy, apology, agreement etch his face. Nathaniel, Justice, and Oghren also frown, disappointed it came down to me risking myself alone and screaming underground because warriors refused to listen. No one should have to scream at anyone underground because someone didn’t listen to the Commander. Only my Wardens and the hounds obeyed my order; the mabari stopped when I first said it._

_My cousin moves my arm. “Are you hurt?” Nathaniel asks._

_It takes me a moment to realize he means if acid eats at me. “I don’t know.” My adrenaline is so high right now I don’t feel pain. I can hear my own heartbeat, can’t calm my lungs. Right now, I feel like I could punch my way through another clutch of cocoons. I turn my hands over, check my arms, middle, and legs. Smears and splats of acidic blood ruin the aesthetics of my gauntlets and greaves, but Master Wade out-did himself. Grub blood looks like bright Fade-green smears of swamp muck on the resistant dragon scales. It’s not hard to pull moisture from the air to rinse off my armor. “I’m fine.” An abyssal sigh fills my chest. “Turn around,” an order to everyone. I gesture past the archers as I walk. “Get those buildings open. Pádraig needs to heal. We may not have time later. Oghren and Justice, take first watch. I’ll take fourth.”_

_“I’ll take it with you,” Alistair tells me, on a sudden gentle, like he’s trying to cooperate now. It’s out of character for the look still in his eyes._

_“No.” I turn so sharp he leans away, staring. Unsure. Unsure of_ **me.** _“We are in unfamiliar territory against enemies_ **you’ve** _never encountered before, and you can’t even listen to_ **one** _thing I say. Just like you don’t listen to me at_ **home.** _This time it’s_ **worse** _, Alistair. That, a moment ago, was a_ **safety** _order. You aren’t taking watch until I know you won’t help your loyal little guard put the rest of us in danger. If you have a_ **problem** _with it, then turn around and_ **go home.** _Like Teagan suggested before we left.” I stare back, trying to fight the swelling around my eyes. Anders, and fright, and relief I was able to stop the acid. Fear of how thick a nest we’ll run into later has already crept up. “This_ **isn’t** _the Deep Roads during a Blight. You_ **need** _to_ **listen** _to me. Those who refuse are not allowed to take watch.That’s how it has to be!_ **Listen** _to me or_ **go home.** _This is a_ **Warden** _mission_ **anyway.”**

_Nathaniel gestures the way we came. “Now is a great time to start listening.” He ushers the elite guard with his bow._

_My husband stares at me while his men shuffle behind him. I can’t read him. I don’t know if he’s angry or scared or ashamed, or thinks I’m on a control trip. Likely all three. And knowing my husband, he thinks I’m paying him back._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	34. More Trouble Than It's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess hits her last straws when Alistair's crew takes dangerous risks in battle, and when she discovers Alistair has kept more secrets. Meanwhile, Alistair's tolerance of his wife's affair vanishes with jealousy and another miscarriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [More of You, by Colton Dixon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYXjXi8PtzQ)

_As when we stayed in Ortan thaig during the Blight, old houses here are opened. On luck we even find an old bunkhouse. Barracks, from the amount of beds. While only Oghren and Sigrun fit on such short beds, it’s better than trying to camp outside. As thick as the tension is, at least our party will stay together._

_I hate that my fucking elite guard, my husband, his General, and his elf have become my responsibilities. If I could trust them not to rush off into battle again, we might have luxury of each using a separate house tonight. But I need to keep an eye on my_ **charges,** _now._

_We all huddle in an open kitchen to eat together. As if a moment of community is all we need to be a team again._

_Indoors, Anders does much better. His claustrophobia articulates from sight and past experience. In an actual house where he can't see evidence of a crumbling ceiling and walls, he can begin to relax. In here, despite the architecture that screams we’re in foreign land, he breathes easier. When he can't see it, he’s not plagued by fear of it crumbling around him. I’m still worried, but I believe the relief in his voice when he says he’s fine right now. He's not back to normal, but compared to earlier, Fine is good._

_Alistair is quiet. Pádraig is quiet, as is his elite guard. Discomfort hovers over our party like heavy fog. Forced, feigned civility when the actions of the royal entourage hindered us. Everyone knows Alistair’s friends screwed up, and we all know my Wardens performed as planned. It’s a weight I’m not sure we can manage if it doesn’t lift. Of all the interaction, only Anders’ politeness seems genuine; as I’ve seen him no matter who he heals. But Pádraig acts like Anders is only being kind because he must. Their session is uncomfortable to watch, even more so when Anders looks at me like he wants better things to do._

_Traveling rations don't help the atmosphere. Dried food; smoked nug, salted pork, dried fruit, carrots. Our staple food in the Deep Roads during the Blight. It doesn’t feel filling, and this only adds to the tension._

_Zevran eyes his jerky almost in suspicion as he peels it apart. “Of all we endured during the Blight, I admit this is high on my list of things I did not wish to repeat.”_

_“At least there aren’t any noble dwarven Crows this time, right?” I joke. In Bownammar during the Blight, Zevran almost cut Bhelen's throat in extreme paranoia. I don’t remember it. I was told of it after the Archdemon released me from one of his little lullabies. Oghren looks back on the event in laughter, though._

_Zevran laughs, then groans. “That journey was too much fun, even for me. Remind me again why I agreed to join you here?” he asks Alistair._

_“To lay low,” Alistair nods._

_Zevran looks at him like he’s disgusted with himself. “It may be time I find a new hobby. No?”_

_“To_ **lay low?** _Why do you need to lay low?” I ask._

_“Laying low as a hobby?” Anders looks over in question. “Isn’t that normally a precaution?”_

_Zevran stares a moment like he said the wrong thing. Before a more obvious pause lapses, he shrugs._ **“No** _one leaves the Crows. Remember?”_

 _That was over two years ago, though. He was there when I met Master Ignacio in Denerim. Ignacio warned him not to give the Crows reason to no longer consider him a dead man. In choosing to become my ally, the Crows wrote off Zevran’s desertion and declared him deceased._ **“Zevran.”** _I almost see my own eyebrows._

_“I may have… Crows hunting me. And… I may have killed… half a House…”_

**“What?!”** _it comes out a yelp. “The crown split and you decide to wage_ **war** _with the_ **Crows?** _Zevran!!” What was he thinking?_

 _“No no no,_ **this** _came_ **before** _all that.” He waves me off like it’s no big deal. “What do you_ **think** _I did in Antiva?” Is he trying to make it look like I forgot or ignored it? Maker help me, he better not._

 _“Vacationed? You said you missed the sights and smells.” My sigh sounds like a scoff. I can only stare. And from the look Alistair shares with Zevran, my husband knew. My husband knew Zevran has been hunting Crows, and leading them right back to Denerim. “For the love of Andraste, Alistair. Don’t tell me you_ **knew** _about this.”_ _After all we fought about not two weeks ago. After all the tears and over-straining effort to reach a place we agreed was best for us as the country’s leaders. Now my husband hesitates. Breath leaves me in another loud scoff. “What_ **else** _are you not telling me? Maker fucking---!!!!” I try to hold in a scream of frustration, but noise escapes anyway through my teeth. I wrap my jerky back up and thrown it on a counter, no desire to eat anymore. “You just can’t stop, can you?” I glare at my husband and his royal correction officer. “You just can’t fucking_ **not** _hide things from me._ **What fucking else** _aren’t you telling me? We just fought over this_ **same shit,** _Alistair!”_

_“We aren’t talking about this here.” Alistair shakes his head._

**“When,** _then? None of you said a_ **word** _about it_ **before** _when we were on the surface! Zevran waging war against a longstanding band of assassins who hold all the power in Antiva, and leading them_ **right** _to Ferelden is a_ **huge** _fucking deal!_ **This** _is what I have_ **problems** _with! The_ **lies** _and the_ **sneaking!** _Your fucking idea I’m too unstable to handle news! Your fucking insane ideas that you can_ **hide** _shit like this from the_ **fucking Queen!** _This is shit_ **I** _need to know about!_ _This could_ **ruin** _Ferelden! With Zevran adopted into your House, this could_ **hand** _Ferelden to Antiva!_ **Alistair!!”** _I say through my teeth._

 **“Not here,”** _Alistair enunciates, his stare hardening._

 **“Here** _is the first time I’ve_ **heard** _about it!” I can’t fucking believe them! He really cannot stop. It’s like compulsion, yet he_ **chooses** _over and over and over, no matter how many times he puts the entire country at risk. He can’t fucking stop himself._ **“Teagan** _is_ **alone** _in Denerim right now, but_ **Zevran’s** _hiding out underground because the Crows are_ **after** _him? Crows are in Denerim_ **right now,** _and you left_ **Teagan** _there?_ _Zevran's fucking risking_ **my family** _and the_ **country** _so he can_ **hide** _down here? Alistair, you're supposed to be a_ **better king** _than this!"_

_Zevran hangs his head to avoid my stare. Alistair shakes his head at me like he hopes his glare will weld metal over my mouth. I see it in his eyes: he thinks I'm trying to discredit him; and he punishes everyone else who tries._

_He's fucking doing it to himself._ **Can't** _he_ **see** _that???_

 _“She’s right. We just went through this at Vigil’s Keep. We know,” Nathaniel defends me. “We were there._ **I** _was there.”_

 _“So was I.” Anders is defensive also. The events that followed last time forged our friendship. It’s what bonded me, Anders, and Nathaniel. It bonded_ **all** _us Wardens._

 _Excluding my husband who refused to remain one yet shoved_ **me** _into his place._

 _Alistair does so many things without telling me a damn thing. For my “own good”, for the country’s “own good”. What happens if Teagan_ **dies** _while we’re down here because the Crows think he’s lying? Will hiding Zevran be for_ **Teagan’s** _“own good”? Has my husband not actually been a good king? How many other things to jeopardize this country is he hiding? What else is he hiding that completely fucking counteracts the reason I wanted him King in the first place? What was the point of letting me meet with emissaries to fund the rebuilding of Ferelden? He can’t believe he’s doing the right thing… does he?_

 _...And I’ve never fucking heard about_ **anything** _because I’ve been confined within his limits of comfort._ **How much** _has he done behind my back and for how long? He was_ **so mad** _at me for not trusting him after he_ **finally** _came back. How can he twist this stuff to my face to make it_ **my** _fault?_

 _I need out. I need to get away. I can’t do this. I can’t be around this again. I can’t be around the lies and the sneaking, the proof Alistair has people convinced I’m not capable. Proof my husband thinks I’m incompetent and can’t handle anything. Does he even think_ **I** _killed the Archdemon? Or does he think it just fell over dead? I can’t handle this. I just need -- I need to go. I need_ **out,** _I need to be_ **far,** _far away right now--_

_That fucking feeling is back. Already. I’ve only been off my medicine a week._

_But I’m fucking underground. I have nowhere to run unless I leave them all here. Unless I desert and abandon my Wardens._

_“Not to butt in - it’s none of my business, I know - but this isn’t the best place to argue,” Sigrun says._

_“She’s right,” Anders agrees. “We’re in a crumbling thaig with_ **miles** _of unstable stone above our heads. We’ll never get out of here alive if we can’t work together.”_

 _“It won’t help us,_ **either,”** _Nathaniel looks over but gestures to Alistair, “if they sneak behind our backs and refuse to obey orders.”_

 _“We didn’t sneak behind your backs!” Alistair snaps with a glare. “This is_ **Zev’s** _issue, it is_ **not** _your business.”_

 _“An issue you brought up down here in a darkspawn nest._ **You made** _it everyone’s business when you_ **shared** _it in front of us. Your habit of hiding things is what_ **caused** _the mess we left in Denerim. It’s_ **worse** _you disobey orders in_ **combat** _. It’s hard enough fighting monsters we can’t kill up close. We warned you about them. Now you’re hiding something your elf brought up.” Nathaniel matches his glare without blinking. As much as I know my cousin agrees with Sigrun, he’s tired of the drama. Unnecessary drama that could have been avoided by not disregarding me. It needs to end for good. He’s stepped in because Alistair refuses to listen to me. “You’re the_ **King.** _You should_ **know** _better. If someone disobeyed you in court, you’d have them_ **hanged.** **Why** _can’t you show the same respect you demand from others? When_ **obeying actually matters?”**

_“If Tess hadn’t pressed Zev for an answer, it would not be an issue!”_

_“You know what,_ **just stop,** _Alistair!” Anders tenses and stands closer to me._ **"Stop** **blaming** _her for_ **everything!** _She asked an innocent question._ **I** _wonder why Zevran’s stayed._ **None** _of you have reason to be here. You can’t keep blaming her for your faults.”_

_“And now it’s suddenly about Alistair being too close for comfort again,” Pádraig mutters. “This was never -”_

_“Go home.” Hard breath flares my nostrils. “Just go home. All of you. This is a_ **Warden** _job. As soon as Pádraig wakes, I want you to leave. You’re in the way down here.”_

 _“I’m in the way.” Alistair laughs in contempt and disbelief. “I’m your_ **husband** _and I’m still a Warden._ **Tesslyn.”** _Alistair only uses my full name when he’s upset with me for undermining his authority. He searches my eyes, his own nostrils flaring above a tight jaw._

 _“And you’re a_ **problem** _right now, Alistair!” My hand juts out toward the courtyard uphill. “We wouldn’t_ **be** _here right now_ **needing** _to wait for Pádraig’s fucking face to heal if you lot weren’t down here to disobey! We wouldn’t be in here_ **arguing** _over you hiding shit from me if you weren’t with us! Me and my Wardens could be covering_ **ground** _right now!_ **My Healer** _wouldn’t need to stall our mission to attend to_ **your General** _if you weren’t here! You’re_ **not helping!** _You’re making this_ **harder** _on us! We had a_ **plan** _that_ **should** _have worked_ **if** _everyone followed it, but you’re_ **not!** _But you’re down here doing_ **exactly** _what you did on the surface like we_ **don’t** _have a serious fucking mission to complete! The entire Legion of the Dead fell here!_ **This isn’t a holiday!!** _This isn’t a casual scouting trip! This isn’t even a place to lay low! But you’re_ **acting** _like it’s okay to do what what you did to me up top!_ **I’m** _the Commander here! Because_ **you** _didn’t want the job,_ **I’m** _the Commander!_ **You did this to me!!”** _My finger jabs the remnant of Duncan’s shield at my chest. “Fucking respect your own decisions for once!_ **Live** _with them!” I step back with my head low as my eyes fill. I_ **hate** _that I cry when I’m angry._ **Worse** _that this anger is fueled by my husband’s continual lies and disapproval of my magic. “Someone put Pádraig to sleep. As soon as he wakes, you all need to leave. Go back home and relieve Teagan so he doesn’t become a victim in Zevran’s stupid war.”_

_I can’t even slam the door. Dwarven doors do not slam. I lean my head back against the stone portal and take a deep breath. Deep, choppy, breath in this stale, dank underworld. My eyes spill over before I can quell them. It’s too hard to wipe tears away with these gloves._

_“Boss.”_

_I turn my head to find Oghren holding out his flask; one of the many he brought. He looks ahead like he’s trying to give my tears privacy. My eyes leak all over again when I bring it to my mouth._

_“Maybe it’s none of my business, boss, but you might consider divorce. Or whatever that holy woman does in Orlais.”_

_I shake my head. “Alistair won’t. He_ **owns** _me. Remember?” I swallow whiskey again. The idea of Alistair’s worth is more bitter than any drink Oghren can offer._

_This is what happens when I stick up for myself. Alistair acts like I’m stealing what’s his. Every single fucking time. Then he'll try to make up for it without apologizing or trying to change his problematic behavior._

_Then the process will repeat itself again. For the rest of my life._

_I don’t know if I can go back to the palace again. Not anymore. It should be a place I call home. But it’s not._

_I might live better down here with darkspawn._

_“We should press onward regardless.” Justice meets my eyes from paces away. His voice is more gentle than usual. In Denerim, he saw why I was unable to pride in my scars and accomplishments; like killing the Archdemon. He understood my accomplishments and abilities were oppressed like a prisoner of war. His cloudy gray eyes flick toward the building I stepped out of. “If the Hart must heal, they should remain. Their vanity should not impede upon our mantle. We will be more effective without their obstinacy. Should they fail again further in, we may not have time to let wounds heal. We cannot be lenient of recklessness.”_

_“I told them to go home,” I mutter._

_“That seems best,” Oghren nods. “All things considered.”_

 

 

_But Alistair has considered all things by the time Pádraig wakes up. While his General recovers from a sleeping spell atop a sleeping potion, Alistair takes me downhill to the bridge. The waterfall is so loud I have to stand near my husband to hear him._

_He can’t let me do this alone. Alistair doesn’t want to be down here, but he can’t walk out when he knows I’m in a nest, when he knows I’m overwhelmed. I remind him we were only overwhelmed because he and his ever-faithful squad didn’t follow my orders. But Alistair insists. I stare as my husband apologizes for the complications._

_I can’t trust him. Not when he’s behaved like he has. He can_ **choose** _not to let jealousy overcome him when our only Healer is compromised. Alistair knows I will be there for_ **anyone** _who falls prey to such misfortunes._

 _I look at my husband, and he doesn’t look like someone I can love. I agreed to work through our marriage - in part because I know he will never agree to divorce - but he does not look like Love. Not down here. Not when he’s choosing to do things that endanger us all; including endanger me_ _. He endangered_ **_me,_ ** _when he vows everything he does is to_ **_protect_ ** _me._ _I now have others who defend me_ **without** _curtailing me when I’m disrespected, and they’re right about everything._ **Anders** _is right: I asked an innocent question, and Zevran revealed another huge political secret he and Alistair kept from me. I don’t doubt Pádraig and the guard also knew. This time, Alistair is willing to risk Teagan’s life to spare Zevran. When Alistair regards Teagan as a father. I don’t have much family left. Fergus is not the brother I grew up with. If Nathaniel had not returned, I’d not have him. The only sister I had ran off carrying my husband’s spawn. And my husband has so lightly put my only other family at risk. Does Teagan know his life is in danger? And I_ **hate** _they think I'm just being rebellious or paying him back for lying about Jainen. Is it_ **really** _too fucking hard to understand I have_ **not** _had a new home to go to till now? Does Alistair - do his biggest fans - think he's_ **really** _so perfect_ **none** _of this can be his doing? Do they think_ **I'm** _the reason he didn't stay back when I told him to? I don't want him or his minions down here. They're trouble. They feed each other false importance and_ **feed off** _each other's ideals of perfection. They_ **cause** _trouble for me, for my entire marriage._

_Cailan from my perfect dream speaks in my head: “I married the wrong woman.” I feel that to my core now. I think I married the wrong man._

_... But what if we_ **are** _overwhelmed without them?_

_I don’t know if it’s worth it to risk their noncompliance for fifteen extra weapons. I can’t use the spells I’ve practiced when they get in the way. They watched me prove what spells I’ve planned, but they give me no room to use them. Not without killing every one of them. I also don’t want to risk Alistair growing delusional in dreams again._

_Alistair stares at me like he reads my thoughts. “You can’t make us leave, Tess." He shakes his head. "We’ll only follow you. I_ **need** _to make sure you get out alive.”_

 _I frown up at him. “And what about_ **Teagan’s** _life? You weren’t so willing to preserve life when you left_ **him** _at the risk of_ **assassins.** _You weren’t willing to do that when you_ **ignored** _me and half Pádraig’s_ **face** _got eaten away.” I shove past him and stomp back uphill._

_Why does he have to be so fucking self-centered? Now that he’s said it, he’ll fucking stay no matter what. No matter how many arguments, or who gets sprayed with acid where. No matter what he sees he’s doing to me._

_“Can’t you just let me do my fucking job?!” I cry out, not looking back. “For_ **once** _since I woke up from my fucking Joining, can you_ **let** _me do my_ **fucking job?! Without** _trying to_ **tame** _me!_ **Without** _your fucking Let Me Tess Or Else shit!”_

 _We can’t even go on yet. Anders fights his fear of enclosure to try to calm me, but it’s hard to breathe for both of us now. Alistair’s trying his damnedest to make me feel I_ **need** _him again, like I_ **ought** _to need him. It’s not fair and I can’t handle it on top of knowing what’s already down here. Nathaniel and Anders spend however fucking long helping me breathe, counting, squeezing my hands. My cousin hugs me tight and rubs my back. But it doesn’t do what it should down here. There’s too much at once for me today._

_I feel helpless right now. I can’t take my medicine down here. It’s too easy for Alistair to shove me back in the hole he’s kept me in our entire marriage, and he fucking knows it. He just can’t stop, even for one fucking journey so we can complete our mission alive. And he’s only going to use my lack of medicine against me, call it withdrawals._

_Sigrun off in the distance leans her head way back to look up at Alistair. They’re too far away to hear, but she gestures my way, Alistair’s eyes flick towards me. When my tiny Legionnaire returns, she says she tried to reason with him. She’s unsure if it helped, but she told him the Legion followed every order and still got overwhelmed. If it can happen to the entire Legion, it can happen to a King and his guard. She warned him there is no room to ignore direct orders, and advised him he make his guardsmen understand. He needs to treat this as he did the Blight._

_She’s not as close to us as me, Anders, Nathaniel, Justice, and Oghren have grown. But she and I are the only women here. She told me during Watch she thinks it’s unfair surface men only seem to want women to be strong when it benefits them. What she enjoyed most of the Legion was she wasn’t judged for having breasts. In the Legion, she wasn’t a vagina who could also wield a blade. She was treated as any warrior, and expected to have the others’ backs in a fight. Sigrun hates seeing other women treated like she was growing up in Dust Town._

_Sigrun was surprised to learn a noble girl grew up as disgraced as a casteless girl. While my life until Loghain was more than privileged, since then on I’ve been a mockery. Earning respect felt fruitless. People who grow up with certain reputations never seem to outrun them, even if they do something legendary; like kill an Archdemon. Even when they marry legendary people; like a Theirin. People like me are always seen as damaged and unworthy on the surface. I told her I would have gladly given up society for a chance to be an Equal in the Legion._

_I confessed then, when all others slept, I may have even given the surface up for equality among darkspawn._

_Desperation makes people do strange things. If only the world taught how to avoid desperation, or climb out of it._

_Now, Sigrun is a loyal Warden, as she’s trying to remain a loyal Legionnaire. If she knew yelling would not gain attention, she would have screamed her lungs out to stop insubordination and arguing. It’s a comfort to know the only other female shares my opinion down here; if only a small comfort. It means my lack of medication isn’t the issue._

_I hope._

_Thanks to Alistair, Pádraig, Zevran, and the elite guard, I’ve already questioned myself._

_And I can’t even force my husband and his band of liars to leave without killing them all. Even when he knows Teagan’s life may be at risk._

_Right now, I hate my husband for that. I would not have survived my teen years without Teagan. He was all I had for so long._

_The most dangerous route sounds the best to me right now. I want out, but I can’t leave. Just like in Alistair’s palace, and when he abandoned me at Vigil’s Keep. I_ **need** _a_ **way out.** _A way out that won't dishonor my Wardens._

_But Sigrun is here with wisdom again. The Legion fell by trying to charge in head-on. If we have a chance to come out alive, it’s better to find a side entrance. A hidden entrance; even human fortresses have them. The fact a concealed entrance isn’t already exposed suggests the darkspawn aren’t aware it exists. It means we have an advantage._

_It means, she lowers her voice for me, I have a chance to get out of here so I can prove myself around people who appreciate such things._

 

 

Breaching the fortress was easier said than done. Traps, they could handle. With Alistair’s party refusing to leave, they retained extra arms. Zevran sneaked down with Tess and Sigrun to disarm the countless traps they would have set off had they charged the front doors like the Legion. With the rogues in stealth among shadows, Anders and the archers lured the spawn upstairs, where the warriors beat them down.

But darkspawn had rogues, also. The party above was unable to push on through a swell of spawn, and their own rogues below were caught in ambush. Genlock assassins from behind, and another in front. _Tess_ was caught. Darkspawn daggers did not pierce the dragon scales, but the spawn fought like Tess and kicked when stabbing failed. _Like they’d studied the woman who killed the Archdemon._ Armor moved with Tainted legs, shoving in so hard Tess, Sigrun, and Zevran lost breath.

Only Tess didn’t _just_ lose breath. She froze and doubled over, stiff, knocked off center at her hips. Anders, distracted, missed a block and felt a sting across his face while he stared from afar. A hand went to Tess’ lower belly. She lurched a second time, so in shock she braced the genlock before her to balance. Tess searched it like a person. _Like she needed its help._ She stepped over her own feet and reeled again, mouth hard agape.

 _Oh fuck! No! Not another one!_ Anders screamed for her. She couldn't move, _he_ couldn’t move yet, and Zevran and Sigrun were so busy they could not get away to help. _“Alistair!!”_ he yelled. Alistair would help her. Right?

But Alistair was also surrounded, beating off genlocks converging on the archers who had no room to switch weapons. The hounds - _her_ hound - were stuck in the corridor unable to push through with the archers trapped.

Anders brought lightning down. Tess was kicked again and fell to the floor with a crude boot at her side. _He'd never seen someone's armor used against them like a weapon before._ Zevran yelled, now, but could not break free. Anders couldn’t even sprint away to give himself room. At risk of collapsing the heavy stone lobby or getting stabbed, he called for roots. Vines, _branches_ even, whatever he could move through solid stone before Tess took a dagger. _Hurry! Fucking hurry!_ He yelled for her again, for Alistair, for Nate. _Anyone!_

Pitch black erupted with flickering torchlight and clanking metal. Anders almost fell gathering her up. He couldn’t stand, she clung with dead weight and noiseless stammering.

 _Miscarriage again_. In the middle of fucking battle, Tess miscarried. They both knew it. His eyes blurred as Nature answered his call once more and swallowed them in darkness.

The only place Anders knew to go was the barracks they used the night before. He stumbled again on hard soil, _had to ask her to stand_ so he could get her inside…

And a wail flooded his eyes. Broken gasps gave her air to cry at last. Pain and defeat echoed in the stone room and made his ears ring. Anders all but ripped off buckles and straps trying to free her of armor. _Not like this! Why did it have to be like this? Why here?_ She wasn’t bleeding yet, her water had broken then stopped. Too much force at the wrong angle. She was either swollen already, which could mean internal bleeding _as if they didn’t have enough to deal with down here,_ or she was clogged… it would hurt worse to pass a clog. _Why?! Why like this?_ Anders feared for her.

This time, _it was his._ He knew. There was no doubt.

Miles underground under unstable rock where he already couldn’t think straight even if he was busy fighting… _and he couldn’t stop it._ Anders held her while he healed, like last time. It was all he could do now, because he _failed._

And it proved a last straw for Alistair. Anders heard the voices, heard the hounds lead them, and before he could set a barrier, Alistair burst in. He shrugged off Nathaniel and Zevran and Oghren and ignored Anders when he said Tess wasn’t stabbed. Nathaniel took one glance at Tess and knew; like that night in Highever all over again, only worse. Everyone was ushered out except Alistair, who grew violent when others tried to pull him away. When Alistair figured out at last what had happened, he stared, and stared. His eyes zipped in thought and brows sunk, until he settled on Anders again.

Alistair asked how far she was. _Screamed_ when Anders hesitated. Anders knew why: Alistair's way of asking if it was _Anders'_ without outright accusing. Though it made Tess cringe tighter, Alistair let angst take charge. When Anders answered at last - _About five weeks -_ Alistair’s fist flew. Pain exploded on Anders’ face.

Before his eyes recovered, Anders' hit cold stone with a burning jolt from all ends. Tess shrieked, Alistair sat square and punched again. Anders tried to kick but he sat too far up, right where he knocked wind out. Alistair screamed again _“IT’S NOT ENOUGH YOU STOLE MY WIFE?”_ The King hit too fast for Anders to throw him back or scramble away. The one mind blast he managed only angered Alistair more. His face stung, he couldn’t breathe, felt bruised all around his head. Tess yelled _STOP IT!_ A feline screech reminded Anders his cat was at his chest. Alistair pulled back with another raging cry, only to yank Ser Pounce-a-Lot out. _“YOU HAVE TO STEAL MY CHILDREN TOO?!”_ Anders watched in horror as _he threw the cat._ Tess shouted, Anders yelled and forced a mind blast so hard the King fell off in a daze. Anders gasped for breath, trying to move, trying to focus. The room spun when he sat up. He looked over to see Tess clutching the the cat to her chest, standing like she was in pain, leaning over to yell. Anders never made it to his knees before Alistair recovered. Stone floor smashed into his nose so hard he saw red and yellow, blood smeared as Alistair dragged him. Anders turned in time to punch, and a tangle of bodies spilled in through the door.

Someone dragged him away while the rest restrained the King. Voices shouted over him, men Alistair knew as brother and friend held him back. Tess’ voice broke _WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!_ Even then, Alistair swung and lunged. Nate pushed Anders out of the way and swung his fist, but a burst of light exploded first and thrust everyone to the floor. The room was silent as balance returned, save for wheezing and frightened mewls from Tess and Ser Pounce-a-Lot. Anders looked over as he stood, and Tess braced the wall, pale and unsteady, trying to keep the cat to her chest. She fought a bought of nausea with a hard lunge that stole her equilibrium.

It wasn’t even done. _It wasn’t fucking done._ Anders held Tess, but the very motion hurled her forward again and emptied her stomach. Hormones trying to cleanse her of the damaged fetus, straining herself to scream, straining to use strong magic to keep a monster at bay. Trying to protect a cat and steady her feet while bleeding and leaking from between her legs. Her body could endure no more.

Nate ran ahead to find a different house with a bath, Anders helped her walk. While Anders cleaned her and healed himself with her, they heard more yelling. Nathaniel, Pádraig, Alistair. Loud cracks like breaking rock made air scarce for Anders and raced his pulse like a stampede. It wasn’t long before Sigrun screeched over all the rest, threatening to poison anyone who kept yelling. _“Half a day later,”_ she silenced them, “ _and we’re back where we were last night!_ **Now** _more wounded than the reason we ran back in the_ **first** _place!”_ They had a job to do, but every civil fight gave the darkspawn more time to do what they were breeding for. “ _If are so eager to announce yourselves, you should have brought a marching band!”_ It would be more effective than trying to kill each other.

Anders didn’t know what to do. The situation was out of control. _Alistair_ was out of control, but he would not leave. Anders had feared Tess growing manic if her antidepressant mixed with the stimulants, but _Alistair_ was the manic one. _Alistair_ was the one losing himself in paranoia. They’d only been in Kal’Hirol four days, according to Sigrun. _Only four days, and all this._ They’d planned to be in the thaig no longer than a month, yet were already stalled and not even in the fortress. Now on top of Pádraig and Tess, Anders had to try to center and heal _himself._ He would only grow worse if Alistair stayed. Or die, if Alistair had his way.

Anders doused Tess in a sleeping charm. She couldn’t stop crying, made herself nauseous all over again, and her anguish only worsened her pain. So over-spent she could not sleep on her own. It felt like forever before the sleeping charm worked. Ser Pounce-a-Lot curled up above her head, a broken paw and a concussion. Tess’ hound sat at attention near the door, vigilant. Anders sat on the edge of the bed, unable to charm himself to sleep. Face sore, worried he was also concussed. He couldn’t heal their party if _he_ was broken. He couldn’t heal _Tess_ if he was broken.

If Tess didn't leave her husband... Anders didn't know if he could keep this up. She meant the world to him, but Alistair would kill one of them in time if Tess kept trying to repair her marriage. She wasn't even the problem. She kept trying to fix a monster - _a monster who enslaved her_ \- but the monster denied he needed fixing. Anders didn't know if he could stick around to watch her die at the hands of that beast... or watch her as _he_ died.

He avoided physical fights when he could. He became a doctor to _help_ people. Fighting was the _opposite_ of that. But against someone like Alistair, a giant at least twice as large as the average man… defensive magic was useless. Even worse, Alistair had grown up trained as a Templar. Anders was trying to help Tess, he’d tried to get _Alistair_ to help Tess. Instead, her husband beat him like a rag doll _in front of her._ It was _humiliating,_ and made Anders feel weaker than claustrophobia already made him. And Alistair _knew where to hit_ to keep a mage from protecting himself.

 _Beaten down by a Templar_ again. It did not matter Alistair no longer wore Templar robes.

 _Humiliating._ Anders felt _defiled._

Nate slipped in some time after noise outside died. The man who’d been friend without question knelt to get a good look when Anders didn’t raise his head. Nathaniel frowned with a tight jaw, and said nothing as he dug balms from a pack. On the edge of the bed he faced Anders, and still silent, spread ointment over every tender patch.

“I almost put an arrow through his skull.”

Anders looked at Nate for the first time.

“Pádraig came to his senses, at least. They’ll be gone before you wake up.”

“Nate…”

“You don’t need to explain yourself. I already did not care for them. This was the last shove. No one hurts my family.”

As if he didn’t already feel weak, tears rose and leaked before Anders could stop them.

“Get some rest, brother.” Nate squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be in the front room.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	35. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [More of You, by Colton Dixon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYXjXi8PtzQ)

_I miss Velanna._

_I know. That sounds incredibly selfish and immature. But it’s more than wanting to correct a mistake I should not have made._

_Velanna would not have let Alistair get as far as he did down here. She was a strong woman who valued strong women, who believed in equality for women. Not only believed in it, proved it. Proved race and gender mean nothing when it comes down to protecting those worth saving._

_She would have put Alistair in his place the moment he went off down here. She would not have given him a second chance. She would have summoned Nature to make him leave. She would have trapped him if he refused. Velanna would have ensured trouble could not follow us._

_It’s because she felt she owed no one anything. I used to think that was Dalish pride. A race clinging to a sliver of a past they can never obtain save through vague stories no longer close to the truth because slavery and centuries distorted how they could speak. I thought it was foolish, and I thought the Dalish looked out upon the world as if they thought it owed them and they owed nothing in return. But it goes deeper than that. I understand Velanna’s attitude now in suffering every second chance I’ve given my husband._

_I owe no one. I do not owe Alistair for helping me a small handful of times early in the Blight. I don’t owe him for charging into battle to keep enemies off me. I don’t owe him for killing Loghain. I don’t owe him love. I don’t owe him loyalty. I don’t remember why I ever thought I owed him children._

_It’s how Velanna saw the world. It’s why she loved Nature so much, and disregarded people. Though a tree soaks up the sun, it does not owe it. Instead, it shares the love it was given. It provides a home for small creatures, food for others, it gives the world air to breathe, and deep in the soil it does this all again. The sun does not say “Now give me something in return,” it knows its gift will be used, and that is enough for it. It fulfills a need without being asked nor demanding in return, and is content seeing the world bloom with every ray. Nature is content watching everything thrive. No demands, no expectations. A simple celebration of life each day._

_I wish Alistair could see me as Velanna knew Nature. I wish he could see he doesn’t own me. I am not his, I do not owe him. He does not_ **deserve** _to have_ **me** _sit within reach at his whim the rest of his life. I nor anyone owe him that. That’s not what life is about. That’s not what respect is about._

_I wish he could have helped me when I needed it, then let me go my way so I could help others. Instead…_

_Instead, I’m down here. I can’t take my antidepressant. Anders’ face is black and blue; still dark though magic has healed it a great deal already. Ser Pounce-a-Lot is disoriented and we are not animal doctors. I’m bleeding too hard to resume our mission. And the only reason my husband has left is for Sigrun’s threats and the arrow Nathaniel aimed at his forehead._

_I wish Velanna was here._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	36. Darkness Uncovers the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tess and Anders cope with fear and try to heal together after the displacement Alistair's jealousy left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Indra, by E.S. Posthumus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5GM9mcibLA)  
> [Rule the World, by Take Five, Stardust soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfwneeyGFek)  
> [Whole World is Watching, by Within Temptation ft Piotr Rogucki](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mf97F-SpBQU)  
> [The Night, by Disturbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBv9TUQUDy0)

_'There comes a time when you must put aside that which defects you and strive for better.'_

_Some Chantry mantra intended for converts or those who confess doubt. It is meant as striving to be more holy; the Chantry’s perception of it._

_It fits in my life now. It can’t make me more holy, and it only works for people who have a way out. But I’ve reached that point. That time to let go._

_Of everything._

_Time to let go of nobility. Of being Queen, of being wife to the King. Of being a Cousland with a legacy to pass on. Time to let go of motherhood. Of life. There is nothing I’m meant for in this world._

_I’m not meant to grow a child. A genlock fulfilled that when I tried to defy it. I’m not meant to participate as my mother did._

_I’m dead, after all. Dying. On a slow brink. Dead people don’t have families._

_I’m little more than Justice, now. Protector designated to a body to ensure the world goes on after my death._

_I was never meant to survive Urthemiel. It didn’t work out with Alistair because I was never meant to survive. Riordan knew it. But Morrigan fell prey to love. She handed me a way to cheat death before I knew the cost of such a burden. I’m not sure even_ **she** _knew the cost. I think Morrigan was as scared of loss as I am of pain._

_Now I’m here. Didn’t carry past five weeks because I was never meant to conceive. The genlock knew that somehow. Otherwise it would not have known where to hit._

_I stalled us. Anders needed to heal me in full before we could continue. I don’t mourn it this time. I don’t mourn myself. I feel stupid for not seeing the signs earlier. For not owning it._

_I could have another Warden here to help if I’d owned it sooner._

_Anders tells me it’s not the end. Nathaniel tells us not to give up, it’s what Alistair wants. Threatening his competition in front of me, go back to my cage or else - an ultimatum Alistair thinks I won't refuse._

_Sigrun says I have a damn good reason to be down here now: vengeance. Because the darkspawn took something being a Grey Warden means I have right to experience._

**Life.** _That last, long look at the world. Time to get back up and give at least one child a life we never had._

_Give the world a little girl worth fearing._

_Velanna. Velanna was worth fearing._

_If the powers that be see fit to allow a child, I will name her Velanna. A daughter worth fearing._

_A daughter no one will think twice about caging._

_In other words, as it took a while to sink in: Don’t give up._

 

 

_… But it doesn’t change the fact it happened. It doesn’t change the fact I felt my womb flatten inside me. Doesn’t ease the pain of Anders hurrying my recovery, or the discomfort that stays in my mind. I look at every genlock now and wonder where they learned to hit like that. Where they learned to kick a woman._

 

 

_Kal’Hirol is different than any thaig I’ve seen. Functional golems stand ready in alcoves. While even a golem isn’t a surprise, nor darkspawn filth, we are all impressed. Dwarven… spirits?_

_Justice says it isn’t so._

_Echoes, perhaps. Shadows, energies of dwarves battling darkspawn. Uncanny detailed wisps with a hollow, lifeless clamor of blades. Stuck reliving the moment of their fates over and over. An entire haunted district. Unlike other hauntings I’ve seen, this is not chilling. We feel like we’re walking through history._

_Where these… spirits are, darkspawn filth is nowhere to be found. We take advantage of these places. It seems the spawn avoid them like superstition; another uneasy thought suggesting they have_ **culture** _now. Where these dwarven spirits haunt become places of rest, stretches where we can afford letting our guards downs. I thought ghosts reliving their last moments over and over might frighten me. But the more ghosts we find, the more clean ground welcomes us. Darkspawn act like they don’t dare tarry. It comforts us all. Against all odds, we feel safe._

_Safety underground. It sounds like an oxymoron._

_Silence when we’re not fighting is awkward. Enough pause between battles for the… mishap of my womb to creep back into thought. Anders is also quiet. On top of his claustrophobia, he’s ashamed I witnessed Alistair hit him._ **Ashamed.** _It wasn’t Anders’ fault, but he’s uncertain of himself. In private, he tells me he feels as small as an ant. He feels he should have been able to stop Alistair, or fight back. Instead, I saw him take a beating._

 _It’s different, Anders says. Different than being a mage in the Circle and having Templars shove him around. It’s nothing new, there. for mages to be abused; shouldn’t be, but it is. Out here as a Warden, where he felt like more than_ **just** _a mage… it’s different. Alistair reminded him he’ll always be a weak man out in the world, and the world will always be against him. He never knew he’d feel disgraced knowing someone saw him beaten. Knowing someone he_ **cares** _about saw him beaten. Between Alistair and the unstable thaig, Anders does not feel strong. And it’s giving him cold feet. “The urge to run again is growing,” he tells me._

_It’s exactly how Alistair made me feel._

_Neither of us want to hurt again. But we are. Because I married the wrong man. Because I was mental and indoctrinated and thought I would never find someone better._

_Marrying Alistair causes pain for many people._

_The more I consider Anders’ words, and the more I think of Alistair… the more running one last time sounds like paradise._

_And we can’t even do anything about it down here. Not until we finish whatever horrors lurk further in._ **I** _can’t do anything for him but remind him I’m here with_ **him.**

 

 

 

_Without a doubt as we cover ground, there is plenty to keep us busy. Little time for thoughts of loss to sink its fangs the more we descend. I know Anders is grateful for distraction. I’m grateful, also. I’m anxious how not taking my medicine will affect me in a week._

_Unlike darkspawn, spiders aren’t superstitious. Fewer safe places to rest, which means regular doses of stamina draughts. This deep, all spiders are Tainted. Venom and giant webs are a hard enough foe, but the Taint only makes venom burn like flaming debris and the webs harder to break. I learned this during the Blight. This is one foe best left to the hounds. Giant spiders seem drawn to them; mandible-watering prey, I assume. But up close where the spiders overwhelm, Po and the hounds are more cunning. They buy us time to attack from behind. And when they’re dead, we fill our empty potion bottles with their venom. Anders once suggested selling rare goods at The Keep. Tainted Venom is as strong as poison comes. Whatever we don’t use against darkspawn will bring coin into Vigil’s Keep like a flash flood._

_That should keep Mistress Woolsey happy for about three months._

_We also uncover bits of history neither Oghren or Sigrun knew. Intriguing. Encouraging. It tugs at the child in my mind who still wants to discover lost ancient secrets. Finding journals, armor with symbols Oghren recognizes as the crest of House Hirol - another Paragon - and a lyrium-infused skeleton. It’s like reading restricted books. A moment of humor passes when my thoughts voice: If I ever die, these will be my bones. Mana will regenerate just by looking at my corpse._

_We even pull a ring made of pure lyrium from a skeleton. It’s beautiful. I hold it in my hand awhile and admire it. Smooth, shining, almost glowing. A stirring heat that works me from the inside, though it’s not even touching my skin. It hums a tune like crystal bells in the breeze. This close, pure lyrium energizes me without swallowing it. I gather if I hold it long enough, I could fight through entire waves like lightning._

_Only Justice and I hear it. It feels_ **alive** _to us. If hearing its song wouldn’t mean death or lethal addiction, I’d wish the others could hear it. It’s_ **so beautiful,** _so_ **pure.** _Nothing compares to it on land or the Fade._

_The further we depress, the more Kal’Hirol proves not like the rest of Deep Roads. Between stairs before a door to the Trade district is another waterfall. Unsure where it originates or where it goes, but it’s the fucking second waterfall in this thaig. Since it’s clean - untainted - Sigrun suggests this waterfall was a natural resource back then. One simply had to reach over to fill; we all test it to be sure._

_The alternative - the falls a result of the crumbing ceiling - is unsettling. Anders shakes his head like he’s trying to convince himself it’s not true._

_Then again: the filth. Littered flesh, rotting swells, a familiar mire and stench of the broodmother in Bownammar. Only the flesh mire smells beyond help and brings nausea._

_What a strange combination of filth alongside pure cleanliness around every corner._

_Even stranger is how much I notice of the spawn this deep. More Blight magi than I’ve ever seen, as well. They seem to understand us when we shout to each other in battle. Even spontaneous orders when planned tactics fail. Like mabari: smart enough to follow directions, and smart enough not to talk; so the saying goes, though I understand Po just fine. Smart enough to hide their new intelligence. It makes it difficult to yell to each other. Some battles, it’s up to Anders and me to startle spawn with magic, so the others and the hounds can follow through._

_Stranger yet, again, is entering the Trade district. The melodic hum of lyrium rushes through my bones. So close I almost smell it. Nathaniel says his head aches. Anders advises we hurry through; exposure can have ill effects. Justice asks if I can hear it. With darkspawn filth all around, we can’t see it from the floor, but along each edge projects a blue glow from below. My feet move themselves. I feel it inside my bones, swimming,_ **waking,** _the lyrium inside me guiding me to it. Around mounds of oozing, rancid muck to clean stone along an edge. And the sight when I look down steals my breath._

_A whole garden. All lining this lobby of the trade quarter like a choir from the Fade. Chimes of the Maker; what’s left of His once-Golden City._

_I can’t reach it. It’s too far, too deep. I try to will my reach longer, but it doesn’t work._

_If only I could take this back with me, all of it. I could have a garden like this for myself. Ooooh, in the basement! Maker, that would be perfect! Turn the Keep’s crypt into a singing garden. No one goes down there anyway, not since we discovered what it was. A lyrium garden would be safe there. It would be there_ **always,** _Justice and I could visit whenever we wanted. Maybe I could frame some to keep in my room? Like the noble homes in Orzammar have, little glass cages with a tiny, brilliant lyrium garden inside. I could take my tea near it, or even set a little potted lyrium stem on my tea table. In little cups, it could set around my room in place of candles at ni-_

**“Cousin!”**

_The dim, filthy atrium rushes back with hands on my arms._

_“Can you_ **really** _not_ **hear** _over that?” he asks in amazement. Nathaniel searches, moving his head to examine my eyes. He’s checking my pupils._

_Anders stares, once again too empathetic for his own good. He’s already seen more of Loghain’s influence on me than anyone. He, and my cousin, now see how easy a leash lyrium is. “You already have more lyrium than most Templars,” his voice is tender and slow. “Let’s not tempt Fate more than we need to down here. Please?” He nods like he hopes it will help change my mind._

_Maker, do I look that bad right now? Do I_ **look** _like I’ve given into temptation already?_

 _… Can I_ **never** _be rid of this addiction?_

 _All a sudden I can’t look at anyone. I’m still fucking addicted, and I haven’t even had any lyrium down here;_ **yet,** _if others don’t pull me away, it seems. So fucking shameful my eyes water, and from my corners as I walk away, Anders winces. He hurts for me again._

_He shouldn’t hurt for me now. Not for this. Not when I have to force my eyes away from lyrium’s alluring glow._

_Trying to ignore lyrium’s call opens my senses to my surroundings, at least. As a Commander_ **should** _be aware. Noise ahead of the stairs we came down. I follow it, where Sigrun crouches and peeks over the steps of a bridge. Have to walk like a jester through more muck and sour flesh to just to reach her. Darkspawn ahead fight, so concentrated they don’t notice our Taint. But… something isn’t right… It looks like…they’re fighting…_ **each other.**

 _Fighting each other so hard they don’t notice a bunch of_ **Wardens?**

 _Maker, what am I seeing? Am I hallucinating? It’s not so hot in here, I’m not dizzy._ **Did** _I touch the lyrium?_

_“Commander!” Sigrun hisses and yanks me down by the arm. Our six hounds crouch with her, low growling with gaps to whine, waiting for orders to charge because they’re confused. Po whines at me in question, and Sigrun huffs. “They’ll see you!”_

_I peer over as she does, though by far I am not trying for discretion. I’m not certain this isn’t an illusion ahead of us. “Tell me you see this?” I say. “Please tell me I didn’t actually dip in raw lyrium and the world_ **really is** _this mad right now?”_

_“I saw a glimpse of this before.” Sigrun pauses, then looks at me with a grimace of disgust. “You dip into raw lyrium?” she whispers._

_“I have. It’s not as bad as it sound. At least not for me. ‘Haps not for you, either, because you’re a dwarf.” My eyes can’t tear away from the scene before us. Hurlocks hacking at other hurlocks, genlocks ganged up on a Blight mage. Another hurlock takes a wide swing and chops a genlock’s head almost clean off. This isn’t territorial aggression, it’s actual combat. Maker, this can’t be right. “It’s peppery,” I tell Sigrun. “Spicy. Like wet coals and the long tropical peppers from up north. With a hint of unripe citrus. It also makes expensive wine taste like tavern swill.”_

_“Eew. Please don’t tell me how you know what wet coals taste like.”_

_“It was a dare,” I answer anyway. “I was eleven. My brother was an ass, sometimes.” The conflicting spawn still don’t notice us._

_“For rogues, you two are horrible at discretion.” Nathaniel creeps up on the other side of me. “It’s all right, though. The lads and I will handle this. You two stay here and cheer us on.”_

_“Piss off. I always kill more than you anyway.” I stand to get a better look. Three Wardens in clear view of almost all the spawn before us. But they are so damn focused on killing each other. “Does anyone have any answers to this?” I ask. “What the fuck are we seeing?”_

_“From the looks of it, extremely confused darkspawn.” Anders watches in uncertainty._

_“Darkspawn have always fought each other.” Sigrun shakes her head, daring to stand._

_“Territorial,” I recall the spawn in the other Deep Roads, and when we went back to Ostagar. The strongest or most powerful get the best weapons and armor. At Ostagar, that meant Cailan’s armor and shield._

_My third… not-really-husband’s belongings. I remember how confused I felt when I saw the spawn with his armor. It felt_ **wrong.** _I remember it angered Alistair. And he treated me like he’d caught me fucking Cailan. When Cailan was a sun-shriveled corpse nailed up like a trophy._

_“Yeah,” Sigrun huffs. “Worse than a room full of teenage male dwarves.”_

_“Don’t bash it till you try it, sweetheart,” Oghren mutters. Like Sigrun, he looks wary of the spawn ahead._

_“But this isn’t that,” I shake my head. “This isn’t random chaos and fighting over food.”_

_“So… what do we do? Wait till they kill each other?” Anders asks._

_“Well… it’s not a horrible plan,” Sigrun agrees. “It would cut our resistance down.”_

_“But it would give us more experience fighting regular darkspawn. For once,” my cousin says. He has a point. We've come across more of those grub Children than regular spawn._

_“I was thinking I might try talking,” I add in. “I’m sure I heard the common tongue. One of them has to know directions. Yes? Maybe ones that want the local ones dead can tell us where the nest is. That one!” I point over another bridge. “That one’s being_ **quite** _disrespectful right now.”_

_I give a double-glance when I feel Anders staring. He smiles; I see in his eyes gratitude for the relief. He squeezes my hand. “Are all Commanders this much fun?”_

_“Not even close.” I can’t help smiling back. “I also think the rest are more efficient.” I gesture to us standing here, then at the conflict before us._

_I love him. I’m ashamed he caught glimpse of what lyrium does to me. I’m horrified Alistair hurt him. But he’s still here. Anders could have run when his cold feet first told him to. He didn’t abandon me, even if life will be easier for him away from me._

_“Can we go yet? Or are you going to stand there all sodding day_ **gazing** _into each other’s eyes?”_

_“Well, you know what they say, Oghren. Taint nothin’ like love on the battlefield,” Sigrun jokes. So ridiculous and more nonsensical than almost anything said underground. I can’t help but giggle. “What?” she shrugs. “Isn’t that the Grey Warden motto?”_

_“No, absolutely.” Anders squeezes my hand. “I couldn’t have said it better. Unless I-”_

_The false sense of safety from the deceiving battle ahead reveals itself in an arrow. Anders yells out with a jolt so hard it throws his shoulder back._

_NO!!! No no no!! Horror freezes me as he loses balance. I can’t hear my voice as our side rushes into the fight with battle cries and noise of threat. I’m almost not quick enough to help Nathaniel move him away. A huge crossbow bolt sticks out near his shoulder; I can’t say how close it is to his heart with his armor on. Ohhhh no no Maker no! We can’t even lay him down here to take it out, the mire is everywhere! This is worse than Alistair, worse than-- and Anders between us worries for his_ **cat!**

 _“Go!” Nathaniel guides us to a chamber off to the side. A tomb with three large golems standing around; Maker, let them be dead! At least it’s clean in here. “Help them!_ **I’ve** _got Anders! GO!” my cousin orders me._

_“But-!” I can’t heal with magic._

_“Go!” Nathaniel glares at me as he sits Anders against a wall hidden from the entry. Anders winces, teeth clenched, leaning away like he can escape the pain. He clutches the armored pouch at his chest where Ser Pounce-a-Lot sits mewling in fear. “Tesslyn!” my cousin almost growls._

_I nod. It’s hard to breathe, and not even from the mire of old flesh meters away. Still nod, pull out my daggers. My feet walk me backwards until my mana trembles down my arms out to my blades. Buy them time. That I can do._

 

 

“This might hurt a little,” Nathaniel warned.

Pain ripped through Anders’ shoulder as Nate broke the bolt. It took more might than imagined not to scream.

“That was more than a little, Nate!” Anders gasped with a tight jaw. “A lot more.” Ser Pounce-a-Lot made a noise of worry between purring under Anders’ hand.

“I know, I apologize. I can’t get your armor off otherwise, though.”

Anders dared to peek over. _Maker fucking --!_ He didn’t want to believe that massive arrow was inside _him._ “Did they shoot me with a fucking _crossbow?”_ He tried to stifle a cry through his teeth as Nate loosened straps. Every little move seemed to jerk on his wound.

“Does it help not to look at it?”

As if on cue, Anders peeked again. “No!” it almost wasn’t loud enough. “Nate?” With the bolt through his muscle, it hurt to take in air. He wished he could breathe without stretching his chest. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Nathaniel eased leather armor over the broken bolt without straying his gaze. “All right.”

“I _hate_ the Deep Roads. I fucking hate it!” He winced again. He’d almost rather Nate just rip his armor off. Get the pain over with.

Nate chuckled. “Anders, I’m shocked. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Anders peered over once more. Red, swelling, leaking blood. _His_ blood.

People like Tess who’d had scar over scar all over her body… and here was Anders with a single arrow, and it was almost more pain than he could handle. One single arrow. He couldn’t even begin healing himself yet, his flesh would only heal around the bolt.

“They had to hit me with a _fucking tree_ branch?” Anders squeezed his eyes so tight bright colors flashed.

Nathaniel gave only a quick warning before pushing on the wound and rocking the bolt. A tight fist slammed to the floor as Anders tried not to scream. Fire _in_ his skin, and the sensation of the bolt tip sliding out only felt like Nate stirred in hot coals.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?” Nate joked.

“I’m a _mage,_ Nate. They don’t allow _bows_ in the Circle.” His head fell back to the stone behind him with a heavy thunk. Anders tried to fill his lungs, but everything hurt. Shallow breath did him no good right now, either.

“All right.” Nate sat back with a sigh. He used his own drinking water to rinse his hands, then dug into an injury kit at his belt. “Are you ready for alcohol?”

 _“Yes!_ Yes! Just give me whole bottle!” Anders reached over and squeezed air.

Nathaniel grinned. “I meant on your gaping wound.”

Anders looked away. Another broken gasp rattled his chest and agitated the bloody hole. “No! _No_ no, definitely _not_ ready.” He _still_ couldn’t heal himself. To ease the pain, he had to begin healing, but no way in oblivion would he do that with a dirty wound. Anders knew Nate worked as fast he could in such conditions. But it didn’t ease anything. He never thought _he’d_ be the one injured.

“On the count of three. Ready?” Nate asked. Anders dared himself to look over. Nate hoovered an open flask above the torn flesh. Each time Anders breathed, more blood gushed out. “One.” Nate nodded at him.

Anders nodded and closed his eyes. “One,” he echoed.

“Two.”

“T-” _Like liquid fire and poison at once._ Anders didn’t recognize his own voice in the yell that escaped. Nate the fucking Tainted liar didn’t wait like he’d said.

“Hey!” Nate patted his face, turning him. “Anders, look at me.” Patting grew faster. When blinding light faded and the chamber returned to focus, Nathaniel held Anders’ face. “Now is an excellent time to heal yourself. Can you heal if I sew?”

Anders nodded, still in shock from the pain and stinging of a single wound. While it was starting to numb, it still hurt. It still happened to _him._ It felt unreal.

“Good.” Nate doused a needle and thread in alcohol. “Tesslyn will flood this place with _tears_ if you don’t heal. Then we’ll _drown._ I hear drowning is more painful than arrows.”

“You’re the only fucking ray of sunshine down here. You _know_ that? _Bastard.”_

Nate chuckled with another grin and threaded the needle’s eye. “Admit it. You appreciate me a little.”

“Right now, I’m greatly undecided.” Anders pulled his mana; it took way too fucking long for the amount of pain at his collar. He bit back more noise as Nate pinched. Watched in irony as his wound hurt so much he didn’t even feel the needle poke through. Then with more uneven breath, leaning to help gravity keep blood from the wound, Anders focused on his pain and let magic flow.

Nathaniel’s face reflected the white-gold glow of the healing spell. Anders watched his highlighted frown of concentration, the brilliant glare in his narrowing eyes as he sewed. Nate glanced over like he felt the stare, but Anders turned his head.

Now, out of the heat of the moment, embarrassment settled in. Like after Alistair bruised his face. The Deep Roads tested men more than men _should_ be tested. At least, going into the Deep Roads with _royalty_ did. And like before, Nathaniel wasn’t judging his pain.

“I guess I should start training with you and Oghren,” Anders said. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who’d crawled from the pocket and hid behind him. Kneading the tiny neck in the right spot stirred the cat to purring, like always. The vibrations of a purring cat calmed Anders like little else. It was the whole reason he brought his poor cat down here in the first place. Ser Pounce-a-Lot’s gesture of comfort helped Anders focus on healing; as he knew petting calmed the cat now.

“Why do you say that?”

“So I can protect myself better. Magic is _useless_ against… arrows and… fists. Between darkspawn and Alistair…” Anders shook his head.

Nate snorted. “Alistair’s an ass. He has issues he refuses to address and he won’t get help. That’s not your fault. And the darkspawn are just beasts. They can bugger off.”

 _“Cunning_ blighted buggers.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re weak, Anders. Crossbows shoot the _strongest_ men down.” Nathaniel tugged on the string. “It’s the whole reason they were designed. The biggest enemies needed taking down before they got close.”

Anders winced at a prick of the needle; his spells were working, or the alcohol wore off. “I’m hardly the strongest. I can’t even best _you.”_

Nathaniel glanced over and their eyes met. “The _darkspawn_ don’t know that. To a _genlock,_ I’d wager you look like a _god.”_

A laugh only made Anders’ shoulder hurt again. “I can think of more compelling people to worship me.”

Nate grinned, tugging on the string once more. “Maybe I should call you _Maker_ from now on.” Nate paused with a short blade at the string. “If you’re the Maker, does that make Tesslyn _Andraste?”_

Both men froze in thought, ignoring pain and duty for a moment. Then, with a shudder that inflamed his wound again, Anders shook his head. “Wouldn’t that make Alistair _Maferath?”_ Maferath, mortal husband to the prophet Andraste, who killed her in his jealousy of her love for the Maker. Which, if such were true, meant Alistair might one day kill Tess in jealousy of her love for Anders.

Nate frowned with a sharp shake of his head. “You’re right, _terrible_ idea.” Neither could help a chuckle this time.

Anders resumed healing with a stronger swell. Even shifting how he sat caused pain at the stitches. Nathaniel cut the string, and as he tied the ends, sounds of battle from beyond ceased. They glanced at each other again, then Nate rinsed his hands again and pulled out gauze.

Anders watched him as silence crept back into the halls. A _Thank You_ felt inadequate right now. Nate was an excellent archer, he could have done more good helping the others. As bad as it hurt, Anders could have taken the bolt out and stitched himself up. Instead, Nate cleaned him up, so Anders didn’t have to do it alone.

Tess’ cried out in the distance. She called for Anders and quick footsteps echoed. A tugging in Anders’ gut hastened as Tess’ noise drew near. The others would be on her heels, and then any sort of proper thanks would be too late.

“It’s Baldric, Nate.” It surprised him how much effort it took to look at him while he said it.

Nathaniel raised his eyes and searched for a moment. “Baldric?”

Anders nodded with heavy breath. “Not the Maker.” A huff of embarrassment at the silly joke. “Baldric.” From the corner of his eye, Nate searched him a little longer before dabbing around the wound.

“Does Tesslyn know?” Nate asked. He dribbled more alcohol to help clean, and Anders hissed before he could stop himself.

He nodded. “Yeah.” Anders smiled in memory. “She expected I’d already told you first.”

“That may be a sign the three of us are too close for our own good,” Nate joked. Anders couldn’t help another smile. “So. _Anders,_ still, in front of the others? Or should I keep it _casual,_ call you the _Maker?”_

Anders laughed so loud it ached his collar again. “You’ll call me the Maker no matter what, now, won’t you?”

Nate sighed, fighting a smile while he laid squares of gauze over the wound. “We may know we each other _too_ well.”

In a spill of color and panting, Tess stumbled around the corner. “Maker!” she gasped, tripping over her chainmail trying to stand.

“You told _her_ you were the Maker before you told _me?”_ Nate joked. “You’ve _wounded_ me.”

 _“Stop.”_ Anders couldn’t help another smile. The worry on Tess’ face ached him, though. Seeing her now, she may have worried the entire battle. Which meant she might not have been at her best, and _that_ worried _Anders._

“It’s - how bad is it?” Tess struggled to free herself of splattered armor.

“Apparently not as bad as I thought. I’m still alive, for now,” Anders tried to joke. He summoned a spell for numbness, but such was hard to control. It would do no good for his entire arm to lack feeling. He’d have to rely on healing himself for the pain to fade.

Tess shrugged out of the last of her armor and crawled over, distracted only by the bloody bolt Nate pulled out. She frowned at both broken ends before throwing it over a gap in the wall to a lyrium garden below. “They shoot with fucking _tree_ branches?”

Anders looked at Nate. “Told you it was a tree.”

“You’re both dramatic sometimes.” Nate shook his head.

“How deep is it? What did it hit?” Hands dripping with a lyrium potion, Tess leaned over and peeled off the gauze Nate just set.

 _“Cousin,”_ Nate growled.

“I’m fine. Really. I think.” Anders nodded. “I’ll be healing myself all night, and maybe all day tomorrow. But I’m fine. Do we have any pain potions? Or did those all leave with… _those_ people?” _Alistair's crew._ Anders feared it was the case. They'd assumed he would replace half the normal medical needs.

Tess froze. She stared at Anders so hard and so still she might not even breathe. If not for her twitching eyes, she might be a statue. Stared like Anders was a book and the words only showed in his eyes.

“What?” Nate searched them both. But Tess shook her head, moving her gaze to Anders’ wound. “Have I missed something?”

Tess shook her head, still frowning. With a strong glance of apology, she put her hand over the wound, and before Anders could even wince from the pain, his healing spell stole away. She kept siphoning, stealing magic that numbed pain of an arrow and sped his regeneration. And it _hurt._ She took magic that hadn’t surfaced yet, and it peeled away from Anders’ wound so swift and hard, his current health waned. A chill took him, thirst, a _spreading_ pain. It hurt even to _sit,_ like the ravaged skin pulled at every muscle in his body. He tried to say her name, tried to reach for her--

Then: a huge, bright glow burst from her with an audible _wooosh,_ blowing through everyone like a hard gust of wind. It pushed so hard hair stuck back as if caught in a snowstorm. Noises of start went around, confusion and stumbling. The mabari yelped and Ser Pounce-a-Lot screeched like a caught gull. Then it was gone: came and went so fast it might not have happened at all.

Nathaniel looked at himself, patting his arms and thighs. He looked aware of his entire self, yet stared like he’d not seen his limbs before. “I feel _remarkably good_ right now,” astonishment emanated from his tone.

“Me too!” Sigrun looked excited; magic never failed to astound her. “That felt _amazing!_ What did you do?”

Only then did Anders realize he no longer ached. He looked, and disbelieved his eyes for a moment. Nothing but normal skin and an almost unnoticeable scar on his shoulder. He poked where the stitched wound had been a moment ago. No pain, no tenderness, no swelling. Normal pressure on a normal, healthy patch of skin. All that remained was the thread. A simple cut, and the string pulled out with nothing more than slight discomfort. And as soon a the string was out, no proof remained it had ever been in his skin.

She _healed_ him. _Tess_ healed him. “Holy shit…” Anders couldn’t make out more than that.

“What has happened?” Justice asked. Anders glanced up, and leaned around Tess for a better look. Even Justice was healed. No - more like time had reversed on Kristoff’s body; was that possible? Still not alive, but far less decayed than when they met him. Maybe closer to Kristoff’s body _at_ death, rather than a corpse preserved by Blackmarsh’s pickling.

Anders scoured the others. Everyone looked… _normal._ Alert, not plagued by dim light and fatigue. No apparent hunger or thirst, not a single dark ring underneath eyes. Like they’d all woken up after a great night’s sleep. Agreements went around to continue while they felt formidable. They had a clean spot to rest, but none had felt so good since they left Vigil’s Keep, even Justice who never fatigued. Anders searched Tess, now, amazed beyond words. She couldn’t heal on her own, so she used herself as a conduit of Anders’ magic. Like she’d done in battle before, yet this time, far better. Tess not only _healed_ everyone, but it put them in a mental state to persist, not let the environment weigh doubt. Like Andraste healed and rallied _her_ followers so long ago.

 _Just like Andraste._ Maybe Nate was on to something after all.

 

 

 

Anders and Nathaniel didn’t miss much by avoiding the battle. Tess and the others cleared the chambers and nooks where darkspawn fought each other. More halls bordered by lyrium gardens lit everything like long, blue torches. Tess held Anders’ hand as they walked, guiding him the long way around to avoid boggy darkspawn filth.

She kept glancing back, kept turning to ask about his shoulder. Like she didn’t believe what she’d done. Maybe not only disbelieved such a healing possible, but also doubted her _ability_ to heal.

Anders blamed Alistair for Tess’ self-doubt. Alistair and his loyal crew of bowmen nannies; as Nate called them. And that elf, following Alistair’s lead like an Orlesian guard dog on a leash. From the second they entered Kal’Hirol, the whole lot _acted_ like Tess couldn’t be trusted with her own talents. Anders saw how easy it was for Alistair to manipulate her their entire marriage.

No amount of assurance made Tess believe Anders was fine. He felt _great,_ in fact, despite the stench and lack of sunlight. He wasn’t even as anxious about the thaig crumbling, now. But it didn’t assuage her. Just one more thing they shared: dissent from those who should have been family.

A river of lava divided the next chambers. A convenient room: a workshop with a functioning golem to repair their weapons. While one side of the room had darkspawn filth, the golem’s side was almost pristine. As good a place to rest as they might find for who knows how many more days.

What caught Anders’ attention were open buckets of lyrium lying about. They caught Tess’ attention, also. Remembering how raw lyrium affected her when they first entered the district, Anders followed her to a basin. Then stood in awe himself.

“It looks _refined_ _._ _All_ of it? How did they manage to store it like this?”

“Oghren says this thaig was known for it. The dwarves who studied here discovered a way to store it without spoiling. His ex-wife used to talk about this place.” Tess almost looked entranced. Anders watched her reach down and dip a finger in, then tasted it with a funny face.

“Is it still good?”

“Could use some honey.”

Anders’ mouth stretched, and wider when she met his eyes. “I meant, do you think we could make _potions_ from it? Or use it for enchanting?”

“I’m sure we could.” She paused to search his eyes.

Thinking of Alistair stirred caution inside of Anders. He considered all the King had done and was capable of, and it made his conscience think it might be safer to run. But the way Tess looked at him…

She always gazed like Anders was a rare gem. Like he was something precious and noble. Like he was _worth_ spending time with. He _felt_ these things around her. They weren’t mage and mage, Commander and Recruit, nor even two Wardens. She looked at him, _worried_ for him, and Anders questioned the urge to run.

“Are you thinking of going into business?” she teased.

A laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Lyrium smuggling? Yes, I’ve always strove for such a life,” he joked. “Actually, I might not mind angering the Chantry a little. As…” he sighed, “long as I have a _really_ good hiding place.”

“Like Vigil’s Keep?” she guessed.

Anders gazed back. Hues of gold on one side, and a blue glow from below. She almost looked like a painting.

He felt like _Baldric,_ like _himself_ when he spent time with her. Even here under however many miles of rock where terrible things seemed inevitable.

“I know you meant well,” he told her, keeping his voice low; his phylactery. “But I’m not sure I’ll ever trust the Chantry to stop hunting me.”

“You might hide longer as a smuggler. Gold moves mountains, after all,” she joked.

He smiled his best for her. “My Commander - not to mention the _Queen_ \- is encouraging me to become a _smuggler.”_ Tess grinned, and Anders’ insides fluttered again. He loved her, _Maker,_ he did. It still sounded strange - no, not strange, _new_ \- in his head. But he did. He adored her more than he wanted to run again. “Do you do this to all your recruits?” he teased.

“Only the incredibly charming ones.” Her brilliant emerald eyes stood out underground.

“Well, _fuck.”_ He sighed in pretend disappointment. “I _knew_ you liked Oghren best. It’s that _hideous beard,_ isn’t it?” Tess giggled, and Anders melted again. He was glad for the moment. They hadn’t had time to be themselves in ages, to be the people who fell in love where nothing else mattered but them. “All right, lyrium smuggling. Highly illegal, but I’m all for keeping my options open. So, if we didn’t have to do all this Warden stuff - the darkspawn, the… charming underground towns…” He looked around, still skeptical of stone that, until late, held up for centuries. “What would we do?” Anders met her eyes again. “What do _Wardens_ do when there’s no darkspawn to kill, rather? I mean, what are you plans for me? _Us,_ for us. For the _Wardens,_ I mean,” he rushed, faking awkwardness.

He loved the smile on her face. “The usual.” Tess shrugged. “Raiding, plundering. Devising secret plans to take over the world.”

Anders grinned. “What, that’s it? No extravagant parties, no gryphon-riding? Do we even get to tame _dragons?_ I believe I was promised a life of _contentment_ for becoming a Warden.”

“If we could fit a dragon at Vigil’s Keep you damn well bet your _bum_ I’d tame one.”

Anders laughed. “Who needs mabari when you’ve got a dragon?” Po barked and growled at him from afar, and Anders giggled again.

“As for parties? Why not?” she shrugged again. “And a bakery. And I kind of like your idea of a _Libertine_ Theatre. It could be a way limit traffic at The Keep. Only those _of age_ could enter the grounds.”

Warm, gravitating. Affection underground when he fought to remember they were in a crumbing thaig. _Love,_ when the expedition so far projected love was the _last_ thing he should feel down here. Despite every problem since Denerim, she was still the Tess he couldn’t wait to see every morning. She made him feel _confident_ about everything he felt for her. Anders missed being with this side of her. “I find optimism quite attractive, you know.”

“You wear optimism well, yourself. It makes you look hotter - _everything_ hotter, I mean. _Brighter._ You know, like the… sun?” she joked with a straight face. “Because the sun is very… well…” She looked away with feigned discomfort and cleared her throat. Anders could only grin.

He missed this. He knew it was intentional, but he missed all the play. Flirting with her was so different when he _knew_ how she felt. Knowing how she felt - how they felt for each other - made playing _intimate._ _Personal,_ a time to reconnect. He never had this with anyone before.

“Actually…” Tess trailed off with her eyes on the lyrium again. “The more I think of it, the more I want to take this. The lyrium,” she gestured. “We could store it in the basement, in the crypt. We wouldn’t run out of lyrium for ages. We’d certainly have enough to sell. Smiths for noble houses would all but _die_ for steady supplies of lyrium. They could fold it in about everything and make their Lords happy. Not to mention the Mages’ Collective.”

Despite claiming she hated status and titles, Tess had strong inclination for business. But joking about taking over Ferelden’s lyrium trade was one, innocent thing, compared to _actually storing it_ where the Wardens lived. If the Chantry found out…

Anders studied her, more concerned for future Chantry action against her than the idea of smuggling. “You’ll really take over the lyrium trade? The Chantry may see it as an act of war. Or reason to _start_ it.”

Tess hesitated, staring into space for a moment. Then she breathed deep through her nose and met his gaze with another shrug. “Demanding your phylactery the way I did may have already started one." Anders couldn’t argue that. He knew a Knight-Commander somewhere would see her demand as a way to harbour a blood mage. Even if the Chantry reacted from the shadows, the fact they _would_ react _because their ignorant rules said they must_ made all the difference. Tess seemed confident, or perhaps she chose to roll with the tides on this. She looked like she believed her attempt was worth it. "Why not go all the way?"

Anders stared at her. Searched. Unsure what he wanted to find, or needed to hear. “You’ll start a _war_ for me?” he almost didn’t hear his own voice. The idea was also frightening. To have someone regard _him_ so _worthy,_ someone who _believed_ in him _so much,_ someone who loved him and fought _for_ him instead of hand him to the Templars… It swelled his heart and flooded emotion he’d never felt before. It was moments like this that made running one last time sound stupid.

It also sounded impossible. Someone who cared for him _this much_ sounded impossible. Part of him questioned whether he was in a dream. It didn’t _sound_ real. People like Tess, and Nate, were part of his life now, but even _that_ was hard to grasp sometimes. This sort of stuff did not happen to mages, not in Anders' experience. Until now, he supposed. This was another one of those times: he had to remind himself he wasn’t sitting in a Templar cell _imagining_ a better life. He was _living_ a better life. A _good_ life.

Even if it meant facing darkspawn and jealous kings sometimes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	37. Redefining Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwanted reunion is the last thing the Wardens of Amaranthine need in Kal'Hirol. But with new insight comes new perspective, turning the cogs to suggest new ideas of freedom and success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Night, by Disturbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBv9TUQUDy0)  
> [The Light, by Disturbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LypjOTTH6E)

_There is a human prisoner here._

_The fact darkspawn took a human prisoner doesn’t affect me as much as the fact dwarves built cages for humans. Ancient dwarves. I’m reminded of the golem Paragon Caridin and his Anvil of death._

_Void. Anvil of the Void. The place my husband forced a Paragon to make another Paragon into a golem._

_Caridin, then, told us the dwarven king of his time took surfacers prisoner under various excuse and used them to feed the Anvil’s thirst for blood. Dwarves worked with ancient human magi to use illegal magic for superior advantages._

**This** _disturbs me. Not the Tainted human prisoner crying from the cage._

_I adore King Bhelen. But I can’t help but wonder how quick he’d put me in a cage if offered a better deal? Like if someone offered to liberate a forgotten thaig in exchange for the mana inside me._

_It makes me think controlling the lyrium trade is my best bet. Secure my vitality to the dwarven race; a visit to Kal’Sharok up north may be in order, as well. I need to meet with Bhelen and his new Carta. Vigil’s Keep opens up to Kal’Hirol, after all… if we can set up a steady wall of casteless to protect a route from The Keep to Orzammar… I’d have direct access... Orzammar still drinks in wealth, the Chantry becomes considerably less potent and will need to divert resources to investigate where lyrium has gone… Which means less Templars - or less effective ones - hunting Anders…_

_I think this is the only way. I can make this work. The more I stare at these cages, the more my gut says I_ **need-**

_“Commander?” Justice interrupts my thoughts._

_“This is a_ **dwarven** _rune?” Anders flips a fiery stone in his hand, for once so distracted he doesn’t care he’s underground._

_Yes, yes. Free the Tainted prisoner in exchange for the rune keeping Anders’ mind off his fear of enclosed spaces._

_… I wonder how many stalks of lyrium I can take back with me? I’ve seen nothing close to a ladder down here, but how hard can it be to build one? Maybe use a tree from up top, and climb down that way…_

_Can I_ **graft** _lyrium? Graft it onto the stone beneath The Keep? I could just dig those entire gardens up, take it_ **all** _back. Though, then I should return to The Keep, first, for wagons…_

_“Dwarven rune for your thoughts?” Anders’ face comes into focus behind the fancy fire rune._

_I search his eyes for a moment before finding my cousin. “Nathaniel? I’m turning your creepy basement into a lyrium garden.”_

_Nathaniel narrows his eyes in an uncertain grimace. “Thank you for the warning.”_

_“Boss, sometimes your evil Archdemon mind makes me uneasy.” His funny little way of paying homage to an event very few in Thedas acknowledge. Oghren rests his axe over his shoulder and starts walking._

_“I love you, too, Taintling,” I say._

_“I knew it.” Anders meets my eyes with a small smile. I recall his little joke downstairs about me favoring Oghren for his beard, and I match his smile._

_I love how his eyes shine when he looks at me._

_“Taintling?” Sigrun echoes._

_“It’s what the Archdemon called me during the Blight,” I explain._

_“Not creepy at all, is it?” Oghren glances back. “I expect a raise.”_

_“Then_ **I** _want a raise.” Nathaniel caps his waterskin and follows._

 _“It’s not a raise if_ **you** _get one_ **too.”**

 _“You’ve all been underground too long._ **None** _of you get a set commission. I pay you when I want.” It’s harder not to smile than I thought._

 _“As long as you give_ **me** _more than you give_ **Nate,”** _Oghren calls back._

 

 

 

There was never a permanent good aspect of the Deep Roads. Trying to find comfort was like walking up a mountain while dragging an underwater rock. Like every break so far, heavy mire and beasts of nightmares soiled _good_ before long. Because they were Wardens, _nightmares come to life._ Their path led straight to a thick hive: nests of deep, rotting flesh and a Taint so strong they almost couldn’t see straight. All but Justice fought the urge to vomit. Sigrun, who had more recent exposure than the others, fended off queasiness best. But there was only so long one could hold breath. Anders could only fight if he kept a barrier around himself, though it did not dim the smell enough. Tess summoned her own Veil shell so she could hold back the Children with Justice and Anders, yet she still staggered to vomit. And one vomiting made another vomit. By the time the last Childer fell, only Justice had not been sick.

Darkspawn were superstitious of tombs. At least, that’s how it seemed. The one the Wardens crawled in was almost spotless. Tess and the dwarves said the same of other dwarven tombs. Not a one of them complained. They ignored modesty to scrub armor and rinse skin. A fire blocked the entrance and helped them relax. Welcome relief. By the time they smelled more like lyrium than rotting flesh, they were too tired to even unroll bedmats. Everyone picked a hound and reclined, and wondered when the next break would come.

Justice, who could walk through magic fire while wrapped in his Veil cloak, kept watch. Nathaniel gazed at the ceiling decorations and asked if anyone else recognized maps. Anders did his best to wash Ser Pounce-a-Lot so he could slip into easier breath with his purring cat. Sigrun said the Legion was lucky they never made it so far. Oghren told the story of Paragon Branka’s broodmother, how the swamp of rot was so thick everyone took turns vomiting so at least one weapon struck at all times. Tess recalled _weight_ that washed away when they had access water again. By the time she and Oghren stopped speaking, they all wondered how such a large party plus livestock endured nine months in the Deep Roads.

Almost worse than marching right into a rotting nest, Justice woke them in alarm: Tess was in battle - alone. Unable to sleep, she scouted ahead while Justice guarded camp, only to land in another active nest. Justice dispelled the magic fire and ordered them to arms.

Though the hounds and Justice rushed ahead to help her, Tess ordered them back. By the time Anders, Oghren, Sigrun, and Nathaniel arrived, Tess was trying to destroy the nest. Spirit fire and frost pulsed from the Burst she tried to strengthen while fending Children off with one hand. Each time the Wardens pushed through to help burden the pressure, her Burst pulsed with dangerous heat or Tess threw them back with a solid shimmering wall. After a fourth pulse, her Burst had grown too severe. Anders was forced to keep a barrier up to shield them from the destruction she wasn’t yet satisfied priming. Justice phased through the barrier to shield her to buy time. No one needed guess when Tess finished her mission. Her violet fire and ice destroyed Anders’ barrier with a gust that threw them all back; back into the muck they’d washed off hours ago.

With the chamber now cleared of half the nest, welcome relief came in the form of stairs. So sudden a change, the risk of Tess’ solo scouting no longer mattered. The hounds led them, though everyone ran for the source of daylight trickling in with the stream. Fresh air, sunshine, no darkspawn, no rotting flesh… _it seemed too good to be true._

It was. What seemed a miracle at first proved only another complication. Before they could appreciate the clean air, Tess’ hound excited, gave a happy bark, and raced back into Kal’Hirol the way they’d first entered. As Tess started after her dog, she gave a double-take at their horses still waiting with the guards they’d left on watch, and she almost fell turning around. She counted aloud as she approached, only for the count to weigh over everyone: _four extra horses._ Anderfels horses, like their own; only select few in Ferelden had an Anderfels horse. Tess’ hound had not raced off for nothing or in confusion. He’d raced off to find whoever arrived; someone he was happy to see again.

Before Tess could ask the guards who else arrived, they stared at _her_ in alarm and asked her where _the Arl_ was.

Tess stared back in horror and disbelief before running like her life was in danger. With sighs of regret and desperation, the Wardens followed their Commander back into the depths. Tess ran so fast they almost couldn’t see her up ahead. Her voice bounced off the wall as she passed; _Teagan! Po! TEAGAN!!!!!_ While they did not want to retrace their steps, her Wardens understood the urgency. Teagan was a noble. While he fought during the Blight, he was aging, and had never encountered anything like a Childer.

 _It wasn’t just Teagan._ Standing off behind the Arl when the Wardens caught up to Tess were Alistair, Pádraig, and Zevran. _Inherently worse_ than an aging noble venturing underground ill-equipped to fight acidic darkspawn.

Through gasps and clutched ribs, every Warden protested the King and his band of naysayers. Teagan tried to silence them all, only for Tess to object. It was bad enough the last time Alistair and his friends were here. Now, they’d lost a day retracing their steps to make sure Teagan wasn’t in danger. The presence of Alistair, his friends, and the Arl created unnecessary strain. They couldn’t rely on Alistair’s party to follow orders, and now they would need to protect Teagan at all times. When Teagan insisted he and Alistair would stay to ensure Tess survived _“this wretched place”,_ it was like the Wardens fell in a time loop. They’d already been down this path. Teagan didn’t care. His reasons for arriving were little different than Alistair’s. The same stubbornness anchored _again._ The nobles did not care an overrun nest of acidic darkspawn was not a place to challenge commands. Even Pádraig, who almost lost half his face in disobedience, followed like a sheep.

It took no expert to see Tess’ word indeed held little weight. The look on her face said she’d already spent her last stores of patience. She’d long tired of being disregarded.

And she couldn’t get rid of them. They had no choice but to press forward with Alistair and his loyal crew _again._

“There are conditions to staying,” Tess tried to assert herself. “I don’t exaggerate when I say it’s _worse_ than anything any of you have ever seen. You _need_ to follow _orders._ You need to _obey_ and _stick_ to the plan _we made._ This is _our job,_ you _need-”_ Tess broke off though. As she turned away from the uninvited nobles, her eyes glistened. _They’d already played this part._ It didn’t turn out well for the Wardens.

Teagan looked on her in sympathy and stood before her, bracing her shoulders. He lifted her chin when she didn’t look at him. “Dearest,” he began with a smile that warmed hearts on the surface, “I’ve been taking orders from you since you were _three.”_

Her long face of guilt might have been adorable if not for her tears and the eminent doom Alistair brought back.

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_“He’s_ **scared,** _Tesslyn.”_

 _I can only stare at Teagan. “Scared?_ **He’s** _scared?”_

 _“Yes, as simple as it sounds. Alistair is_ **scared** _and_ **can't** _meet all of your needs_ **and** _-or expectations half way_ **at once** , _and it is even_ **harder** _for him while he_ **watches** _you_ **knowing** _you have someone else to run to_ **when** _he doesn't measure up. He doesn’t see the_ **purpose** _in trying when you have - in his words -_ **perfection** _to measure his faults with. He is_ **trying,** _but he is wary it makes no difference, and attempting it_ **all** _at once overwhelms him. The harder he tries to change his approach at once, the more he falters."_

 **“Teagan.”** _I can’t believe he’s arguing in place of Alistair. I don’t need this right now. We still need to backtrack through the nesting mire of rot to find a broodmother. Alistair cared nothing how I felt when he threw Anders back and tried to murder him with bare fists. He was more than happy to let my pain endure to rid competition. “I was in his place_ **months** _ago, ask_ **anyone** _at Vigil’s Keep when he rode off. But everyone keeps trying to make_ **me** _the criminal! I tried to_ **die,** _Teagan! I was_ **that** _far sucked into his ‘Poor little Tess can’t take care of herself’ shit that I_ **believed** _it and it_ **ravaged** _me when he left!” I can’t stop my eyes clouding. I don’t know if I’m angry or actually hurting. Every single fucking argument feels like I’m stuck in repetition. “How much more can I take when I’m_ **now** _in a place to_ **not** _take it for my own good?_ **Why** _should I take it now? I_ **can’t do** _it, Teagan, I don’t want to_ **find out** _how much I can take! I can’t spend forever_ **waiting** _for him to compromise his_ **Absolute Comfort.** _Why can’t he be happy settling for_ **both** _of us_ _having equal levels of comfort and we_ **help** _each other through the_ **rest,** _instead of_ **suppressing** _me to_ **control** _his fear?_ **His** _fear!_ **Why** _can’t that be_ **good** _enough for him?_ **Why** _does_ **my** _end of the bargain need to be handing My Own Good to_ **Alistair** _and being_ **miserable** _and_ **unheard** _the rest of my life?”_

 _Teagan nods. “You are_ **both** _distraught over this.”_

 _“I’m only distraught when he’s here, Teagan! It’s not like this when he’s gone! Even down here where the fucking environment makes us ill at every turn, I’m_ **fine** _when he’s gone. I have people now who_ **let** _me be_ **my** _idea of happy, not demand I’m_ **Alistair’s** _version! Teagan, he_ **wants** _that_ **Dream Tess,** _he doesn’t want_ **me.** _He wants everything_ **she** _can give him. I don’t even know who that woman_ **is! I’ve never** _been like her! But_ **that’s** _what he_ **wants** _of me! And nothing I ever do out_ **here** _in the_ **real** _world ever measures up. He constrains me to_ **make** _me her, Teagan! I can’t -- and_ **he’s** _mad at_ **me!** _He’s_ **mad** _at me for_ **finally** _having the chance to get_ **out** _of that! But I’m in a fucking bond_ **still** _because I have Wardens to look after._ **If** _he agrees to divorce, it will only allow him to kill Anders! And likely Nathaniel! You didn’t hear the horrid shit Pádraig_ **accused** _me of with him. I_ **have** _to_ **stay** _Queen to protect my Wardens, now, but he’s making it fucking impossible to live at the palace. I_ **can’t!** _I_ **can’t give** _him anymore, Teagan. There’s_ **nothing left!** _The Tess he married_ **died** _with the Archdemon._ **Alistair put** _me at this crossroads and_ **shoved a cage** _over me_ **again!** _He kicked me out, told me to stay, then_ **panicked** _when it_ **suited** _me, and all he’s done is_ **moved** _that fucking cage! I’m_ **losing** _energy to_ **fight back,** _Teagan, but if I stop completely, it goes right back to what it used to._ **I** _go right back to_ **faking happiness** _so I don’t get_ **yelled** _at over_ **stupid** _shit! Even_ **now,** _it’s_ **repeat** _after_ **repeat** _after_ **repeat,** _the same damn argument without end! We already_ **made** _an agreement!_ **He’s** _the one who keeps breaking it!”_

_“Then perhaps you need to compromise on your compromise in the meantime.”_

**“What?!”** _No no no, NO! “Haven’t you been_ **listening?** _We_ **made** _an_ **agreement** , _but_ **Alistair** _keeps_ **breaking** _it. He_ **digs** _for ways to break it!”_

_“That agreement obviously isn’t working-”_

_“Because of_ **him!** _Because of_ **his** _choices! He_ **can** _honor our agreement, Teagan! He’s_ **choosing not** _to! Who the fuck makes an agreement they don’t intend to honor?”_

 _“-So set your bar a little lower_ **for right now-”**

 **“Teagan!** _I’ve gone as_ **low** _as I_ **can** _right now!_ **He’s** _the one refusing to budge!”_

_“-When he is able to meet those needs, then raise it again. He is not coping well, Tesslyn, he never does.” Seems the more I lose my head, the more steady Teagan’s is._

_“Neither am I, Teagan. I_ **wasn’t.** _I’m_ **not** _when he’s_ **around**. _He_ **creates** _ways to_ **fight.** _He accused Anders of_ **stealing his children,** _for heaven’s sake! That’s not something he_ **can’t** _control!”_

_“Maybe for Alistair, it is.” Teagan stares like he’s trying to drill holes in my eyes. “It truly might be something Alistair cannot control-”_

_“Then he should_ **not** _be underground where he loses his mind_ **worse!”** _I insist. Teagan’s suggesting - as did Anders - Alistair has deep, serious mental instabilities… when Alistair insisted our entire life together_ **I’m** _the one with mental problems. One more thing I don’t want to live with._

 _“Re-consider your own comprises,” Teagan continues as if I did not interrupt him. “Ask him to only meet_ **one** _or_ **two** _at a time -_ **or** _lower your standards by_ **half** _for a time_ **until** _he can meet them_ **there.** _And_ **you** _should do the_ **same.** _Tesslyn, you are asking a_ **great deal** _of him_ **all** _at_ **once.** _Underneath it all, you are_ **all** _he has -” He shakes his head when I open my mouth. “It does not matter what you or I see from the outside,_ **he feels** _he has_ **only you.** _You are the roots that ground him. It’s_ **why** _he is the great King he has become._ **You make** _him great. I understand his_ **position;** _do_ **not** _mistake this for advocating how he makes you feel. I_ **don’t** _advocate the pain he induces in your heart. But I’ve seen how you_ **used** _to love him. It was strong enough to make the most unlikely strangers become_ **brothers** _during the Blight.” Teagan’s face softens the longer he stares at me. “It is obvious he falls apart without you there to support him each day._ **Meet him halfway.** _If he needs a more gradual approach, then_ **help him get there** _. Meet him_ **three-quarters** _of the way_ **first,** **then** _help him meet you halfway. I_ **love** _you_ **both,** _dear girl. I wish you_ **both** _happy."_

 **“Why,** _Teagan?? For_ **me,** **everything** _happened at_ **once** _! In a single moment!_ **He** _did all those things_ **at once** _for me! But_ **I** _should take it one piece at a time and ease_ **him** _into this?_ **He** _can do everything at once and I’m supposed to hold my head, but_ **I** _must hold his hand_ **every fucking long** **step** _of the_ **way?** _Teagan, I had a_ **miscarriage** _and I_ **still** _have to_ **keep fighting,** _I can’t rest like I should be right now. I don’t have luxuries of_ **time,** _I can’t hold his hand and_ **move** _him down here! Even when we’re done here, I_ **still** _have a job to do - a job that_ **must** _be done, and a job_ **he** _didn’t want! I_ **can’t coddle** _him! He’s a_ **grown man!** _If he can be_ **King,** _he can_ **fucking** _meet me halfway! He can_ **control** _himself!”_

 _Teagan holds my shoulders. “Just consider it,” his voice quiet and more gentle than all day. “The boy is a wreck without you, Tesslyn. He is_ **not** _perfect. He will_ **never** _be a perfect man; there_ **is** _no such thing._ **Nor** _may he ever be a perfect husband. But he_ **loves** _you_ **tremendously.** _Love has_ **consumed** _him, and he cannot function without you.”_

 _I shrug away from him. “That’s_ **his** _problem, and right now,_ **yours** _as well. You’re describing_ **me,** _not him. That’s_ **exactly** _what happened when_ **he left** _me! He_ **forced** _me to get up and move on_ **against** _my wishes. I_ **had** _to._ **I** _was given no easy way out or gradual transition. Why should_ **I** _bend to_ **his** _heartache but_ **he** _can disregard_ **mine?”**

 _“Then_ **show** _him the_ **difference.** _Give him the opportunity to_ **understand** _what he put you through so he doesn’t make the same mistake again.”_

 _“I can’t make his choices_ **for** _him, Teagan. Every_ _time I try to work_ **with** _him, he makes everything_ **worse.** _It’s_ **obvious** _he doesn’t care how much pain I go through_ **only** _as long_ **he’s** _the one I have_ **sex** _with!” I shake my head, but it only shakes more tears loose. “I_ **can’t** _keep_ **bending** _to him, Teagan. I_ **can’t.** _What if Nathaniel and Oghren aren’t there to pull him off in time? What if_ **next** _time it’s_ **me** _he hits like that? He doesn’t_ **back away** _when he’s told. He doesn’t respect_ **my** _needs, he doesn’t_ **acknowledge** _them. I_ **just can’t,** _Teagan! I’ve no more straws left. It_ **hurts,** _I_ **just can’t** _anymore.” I look down as more tears fall. “You made a mistake coming here.” He stops me from turning away, though._ **“Teagan-”**

 _“Dearest,_ **you** _are a wreck.” He turns my head up so I must meet his eyes._ **“He needs** _to_ **mend** _that hole he drilled into your heart. You are your_ **mother’s daughter:** **Turn** _his feet in the direction_ **you** _want him to walk. Do you think the Sea Wolf would have married the son of Teyrn Cousland if she’d not told him where to put each foot?”_

_“It would be easier if she were here, Teagan. I’m not my mother. I’m not as brave as her. I’m not as strong.”_

_“No.” Teagan shakes his head, wiping my cheeks with this thumbs. “You’re_ **stronger.”**

 

 

Camping with their new stragglers was worse. Teagan approached Anders after insisting Tess and Alistair speak in private. He apologized for bringing Alistair back, but the situation needed remedying before things took a turn for the worst. He advised Anders distract himself with drink for the night. While benign as ever, the Arl didn’t seem to understand the Wardens could not function with the King’s drama.

“He _tried_ to _kill_ me.” Anders stared back along the bonfire, trying to keep his breath under control. “I honestly don’t know how you think that means we’ll do _better_ with him here. If he _succeeds_ next time…” He shook his head. “I'm the only Healer. _Only,”_ he enunciated. “We did better without him. We don’t need _someone like him_ with us.”

“That is why _I’m_ here, to make sure there _isn’t_ a Next Time.”

“I understand you mean well.” Anders shook his head. “But this could have waited till we returned.”

Teagan looked toward the disturbing entrance into Kal’Hirol, also shaking his head. “No. It could not. If something dire occurs and Alistair learns too late, the entire country will fall. _Just like that._ It will be worse if she falls here while they are in discord.”

“Perhaps the country needs a _better king,_ then.”

“Think of him what you will, but Alistair is a fine King. I am confident of this; I taught him myself.” The Arl paused, gazing off to the shadowed figures at Alistair and Tess’ small fire. “What is a King when he has no inspiration to lead? _Every_ man needs purpose, no matter the station.”

“Well, his inspiration doesn’t do much good for the _Commander_ or her _Wardens.”_

“He has fallen off his _wagon,_ Master Warden. The cause nor the remedy can be addressed until the symptoms are taken care of.”

The wisdom of this man surprised Anders. Nobles didn’t seem the type to behold such things. He also thought the Arl wasted such wisdom when people like Alistair refused to stop chaos. “Why aren’t _you_ king?” he asked.

Teagan smiled. “So I always have someone higher up the chain to pass problems to. If something causes a headache, I send them to Fergus Cousland. And when _he_ is overwhelmed, he sends them to the King.” He opened a flask and took a drink as every head turned toward the escalating royal voices beyond. “Alistair, unfortunately, has no shoulder to lean on but Tesslyn. It would do you Wardens well to remember she once made vows to help Alistair _burden_ his tremendous weight.”

Anders snorted. “Is that what you call it?”

 _“I_ call it _marrying a King._ What would _you_ call it?”

“She sounds more like a Prisoner of War, to me. _Gilded_ cage or not.”

Teagan hummed in thought, staring once more at the troubled profiles ahead. “They _both_ are.”

 

It didn’t ease the tension, though. Tess and Alistair yelled so loud the party heard every word. Most of what Tess argued was _“You’re still not listening!”_ It wasn’t long before Anders paralyzed the King from afar to make him shut up. The Arl scolded him for meddling in others’ affairs, but also agreed it was _“for the best. Tesslyn can at last get a word in.”_ And upon her return, before Alistair came out of paralysis, Tess and her Wardens faced their own camp away from the others and settled in for the night under one large tent. No one slept content that night, even though the Wardens had rushed to the fresh air in worship.

More awkward was morning, when they stripped camp to descend where the Wardens emerged before the reunion. Alistair tried to play civil, as if he hadn’t returned and yelled at his wife when he could have stayed home as ordered. Tess tried to ignore him, but it did not stop the King.

“How are you doing?” Alistair asked as Tess frosted the fire to quench it. She replied with silence. “I realize I never asked before… I left.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

 _“I_ want to talk to _you,_ Tess.”

“You could do so in your head, like you do every night. We won’t fight that way. We _never_ fight in your dreams. Remember?”

Alistair paused, frowning. Hurting. The others looked away, but the aura wasn’t as easy to dismiss. “I’m _sorry,_ Tess.”

“Did you also apologize to Anders?”

Anders fought lifting his head. Had Alistair attempted to apologize without prompting, it might have held weight. But any attempt now would mean nothing more than Alistair trying to appease his wife.

“Is there really no way to repair this? Is there _really_ no way to go back to how we were?”

“We already spoke about this. I don’t _want_ to go back to how we were. We agreed to move on and stay married, that’s all. _You’re_ the one who keeps making things worse. I didn’t _make_ you try to kill my Healer.”

_“Tess.”_

“Cousin! We’re ready. We should move, get this over with.” No one could deny Nathaniel’s call relieved Tess.

An unending river of awkwardness, and they were all trapped on the same raft. They were bound for another sudden fall, just like last time.

 

Re-entering Kal’Hirol put them right back in the mire the Wardens fled. While they prepared and took nausea tablets - strong ones - this time, the stowaways had not yet been here. The Wardens followed the mabari and rushed the others down a nearby tunnel, but they weren’t fast enough.

When stomachs settled and everyone got a look at their new surroundings, they found themselves in a cistern. _Clean air and water._ Almost a sudden cease of darkspawn muck. It was almost too good to be true.

“Oh, look. You guys came back just in time to miss the worst parts,” Sigrun said.

“I’m not sure who you mean. You should be more specific,” Zevran retorted with a scowl.

“If that’s what you want, all right. Zevran, King Alistair, General? You conveniently came back after we endured the worst of it.”

Zevran grimaced with an eye roll. “Much better.”

“Thank you!” Sigrun took pleasure in sarcasm; the darker, the better, always masked with cheer. No other Warden spoke up, but the looks they gave each other agreed in full.

Not a few steps away while everyone stalled for to recover, metal clanked and something heavy made a muffled thud. The Wardens looked over to see their Commander stripping out of her armor.

“Don’t judge me.” Tess threw off her belt and unlaced her pants.

“My _dear!”_ Teagan turned away in a sharp spin. _“Warning_ would be welcome!”

As soon as her last article was off, Tess dropped straight into the water. Someone gave a huff of disbelief.

Tess wasn’t the only one. Sigrun and Nathaniel had the same idea; Anders winced as they followed the Commander’s example. The hounds also jumped in, happy faces and thirsty mouths as they tried to drink and swim along the walls one by one. Then Oghren began stripping. _Maker!_ What if they were ambushed? Justice stopped ahead as if already prepared for this unconventional bath.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Anders watched Tess surface with the biggest look of relief since the Architect healed her.

Nathaniel glanced up as he yanked off his boots. “Do you see any other clean water?”

“No, I mean…” Anders looked away while Sigrun joined Tess underwater. “We’re still in _darkspawn_ territory.”

Nate glanced up again, tugging off his other boot. As he stood up again to unlace his trousers, he nodded toward Alistair and his party. “They can put themselves to use. We need baths, Anders. Even you.”

With a wary glance at their unwelcome party, Anders decided Nate was right. The Wardens needed decent baths. A cistern was far from ideal, but it was clean water, and they could wash what mattered. A harder feat would be washing Ser Pounce-a-Lot.

 _And it was perfect._ Dwarves knew how to keep water the perfect temperature. Either that, or he was deprived. Anders surfaced with a sigh that filled his whole body… and heard:

“You’re _hairy,_ Nate.”

 _“Oh Maker--”_ Anders almost choked. Leave it to Tess to bring up something like this underground.

“So are you.” Nathaniel answered his cousin while wiping water from his face.

“What about me? I think I’m hairy than both of you,” Sigrun chimed in.

“This is a _contest?_ How am I supposed to win against a _dwarf?”_ Nate demanded.

“Cut off the stuff on your head and glue it below,” Tess suggested.

“You call that hair? _Hah!_ I have _everyone_ beat!” Oghren announced.

“That’s a fact.” Sigrun nodded. “Male dwarves are hairier than _anyone.”_

“I _know._ I’m quite envious,” Tess joked.

 

 

“Remind me who I work for again?” Pádraig muttered, back to the scene behind them.

“The Queen of Ferelden,” Teagan whispered, nodding with a blink. He didn’t dare turn his head even a little.

Not much to do when one’s daughter and her friends decided to skinny-dip in a dwarven cistern and speak of pubic hair like fashion.

 

 

With the Wardens breaking to bathe and scrub their armor, the whole party had no choice but to stop. As the Wardens saw it, Alistair’s party delayed them, so the Wardens were owed one. After Tess siphoned water from armor and they dressed again, eating was priority. The others had nothing to do while the Wardens enjoyed their break, so they, too, decided to wash.

“Are you _sure_ it’s not Tainted?” Pádraig asked for the third time.

 _“Yes.”_ Tess replied, irritated. Anders didn’t blame her. It didn’t matter what the circumstance, she was always doubted.

“It’s not,” Alistair assured from in the pool. He blew away water dripping down his face.

“While I’m inclined to lie to _you,_ Pád, I’m not about to Taint _Teagan._ It’s _clean_ water, _and_ it’s running _downhill.”_ Tess rolled her eyes.

“But _how_ do you _know?”_ Pádraig insisted.

Jaw tight and nostrils flaring, Tess unbuckled and yanked off a glove, then pricked her finger with her dagger. “Would you like to learn how the _Taint_ tastes?” Sharp and losing what patience she had left for a man who lied to her when she called him _Brother._

“Not particularly.”

“Then stop your fucking whining. Your bollocks don’t hang there for _nothing.”_ With Wardens snorting, Tess moved from Sigrun’s side and wedge between Nathaniel and Oghren, turning her backside to her doubters.

 _“That’s_ what they’re for?” Anders kept his voice low, fighting a smirk. She found his gaze, wiggling her fingers back in her glove, holding face better than he felt he did. “You mean the Chantry _lied_ to me?” he joked. Tess’ smirk broke free of restraint, and Anders couldn’t help his grin. He loved how her eyes sparkled for him.

“Sorry to break it to you, but that’s _not_ what the danglers are for,” Oghren said.

“Don’t tell _Pádraig_ that,” Tess muttered.

_Then Alistair again._

The King hurried a wash to talk with Tess alone when she dug into her backpack, but his intentions soon reached everyone’s ear. He didn’t need to shout. Every noise echoed in the corridor. No one meant - or wanted - to eavesdrop. But they had no choice.

“- _Imagine_ all our time together, Tess? Our _life_ together? Every hug, every kiss? Our _wedding vows,_ Tess. Did you _mean those?_ Did you _mean_ the way you used to look at me? Like I was all you ever needed to see the rest of your life - _that's how it felt,_ Tess! That's _exactly_ how it felt when you looked at me, and _everything_ in my life felt _worth_ it. _How_ can this all be gone so fast? _How?? How_ can it all be _not real_ anymore?”

“It was never _fully real,_ Alistair. You _shaped_ me into the woman who said those vows, because _you_ can’t stop seeing me as _Dream Tess._ Don’t you remember? The _circles_ and that _rune_ you used to draw. You _used_ those to _tame me_ how **_you_** wanted me to be. And I _know Sten_ helped you! I know he _counseled_ you! I became a woman who reacted to you like _you_ wanted. Some things I’ve done…” Tess shook her head. “I would _never_ have done them without your influence. You guided my _every action_ since we woke up at Morrigan’s house. I even _fought_ Morrigan when she called me your _lap dog_ because _I_ didn’t want to believe _that’s_ what had become of me. It was _your_ marriage, Alistair! _Your_ relationship. I’ve _never_ had say in it, and _you made_ me think _you_ ** _knew_** _what was_ ** _best_** _for me!_ I’ve only been a _placeholder_ for a _flawless pretend housewife._ Do you have _any_ idea what that _feels_ like to understand? To _wake_ up and _realize_ you’re just a _cheap imitation_ of your husband’s _first_ choice? And then try to _ignore_ I know it _every second_ of _every day!_ I _loved_ you. It _feels_ real when I think back, and I _adore_ every _good_ memory. But _maybe_ I loved you _because_ you shaped me, _because_ you chose my purpose _for_ me. _Just_ like the Qunari! I can _fight_ the destiny _you_ picked out for me, or I can _accept_ the purpose you’ve given me and be _happy._ _Right?_ That’s _Qunari hogshit ultimatums!_ That’s _not_ what I _felt_ for you!

“For what we _survived_ together, I love you - I _think_ that’s what it is - but I don’t know that’s _all_ it’s ever _truly_ been for me. _Some_ things stopped for me a _long_ time ago, and _some_ things _never have_ been. It became _easier_ for me to _play along._ You just never opened your eyes to _my_ life till you gave me the job _you_ didn’t want. I _love_ you, Alistair, no _matter_ the reason. But I _can’t live_ in the image _you_ want to dress me in. And it’s becoming _dangerous_ trying to make you understand _I don’t want everything_ **_you_ ** _want_ for us. _Lies_ have turned to _attempted murder._ And we should _not_ be having conversations in a place like this!”

Alistair stared for a while, trying to read her. Trying to find trace of the love she used to emanate when she looked at him. “So this is _it_ … then? We’re _done?_ _Forever?”_ His face scrunched with wet eyes before he could stop it. _“Maker,_ Tess, _I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want lose you.”_

“Tesslyn Mac Eanraig,” Teagan called out. “Dear girl, we need to move on.”

Alistair glanced from her to Teagan and back. _“Mac Eanraig?”_ That was her mother’s family name. “What’s _that_ mean?” He stared at Tess, fearing he knew why _Uncle_ did not call her a Theirin. “You’re not-- _you don’t want a--”_ he couldn’t say it. _Divorce. Alistair didn’t want it to be true._ He would _never_ see her again. _Worse than her death_ would be knowing she _chose_ to never see him again. It would mean Alistair _really wasn’t_ good enough for her.

For the longest moment, nothing but trickling water and sniffing hounds amongst the drips and _plunks_ echoing in the cistern.

At long last, Tess breathed a sigh. “This isn’t the place to discus _us,_ Alistair.”

 _“Tess.”_ He watched her glance toward their party.

“Just…” She met his eyes in hesitation. “Follow my lead down here. _Please,”_ she insisted. “We’ll talk about this again when we’re out of here.”

Alistair nodded. Follow her lead; he could do this. He _would_ -

… He would _try._ It would be difficult not rushing to intercept danger. But if that’s what she needed down here - if that was _all_ she needed from him down here - he would try.

Alistair took her arm as she turned to leave. “Wait, Tess…” He searched her eyes when she turned back to him. He slid his hand down her gauntlet to her glove. “Can I have a hug? Please?” He didn’t know how to say _he needed to be held_ without sounding pathetic or - maybe in her eyes - possessive.

For another long, quiet moment she searched him. When she closed in and embraced him, the relief almost broke his heart. Alistair clung to his wife, scared she might be a step from leaving him forever, and grateful for whatever chance he had left right then.

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_I almost forgot what his hugs feels like. As much as he’s frustrated me and made me feel incompetent, as much as he scared me and angered me when he hit Anders… I miss his hugs. Warm._ **Whole** _hugs._

_A hug that loves me. No matter how flawed it is, no matter how scared, no matter how many fears make his arms feel like iron bars._

_A hug that makes my eyes fill and leak before I can step away and gather myself._

_My husband’s hug._

 

 

Advancing round the bend and down the next corridor led them to heavy banging and guttural voices. In this cistern almost devoid of the Taint, every Warden drew weapons before they even set eyes on the source.

Two talking hurlocks this time, one a Blight mage, the other without a staff, and as they drew nearer, a metal golem at least twice as large as Branka.

“This is _not good,”_ Alistair muttered, staring with the others at the illusion of lava in the golem’s seams. Everyone else stood so in shock of its sheer size they couldn’t ask how to defeat such a thing.

On a miracle, the golem didn’t notice them, and the hurlocks were too busy arguing to look over. _Arguing._

If the Wardens hadn’t seen spawn warring in the Trade District atrium, this might seem strange. Tess sighed and sheathed her daggers. She wasn’t the only one annoyed with darkspawn displaying how trivial human squabbling was.

Before anyone could ask or stop her, Tess stepped forward. “Sorry to intrude, but we’re looking for a broodmother nest. Will one of you fine gentlemen be kind enough to show us the way?”

Someone behind Anders slapped a hand to a face.

Both hurlocks looked over in silence.

“You’ll be handsomely compensated,” Tess added.

 _“You! Help!_ You must be helping me! _Please!”_ One hurlock started towards the Wardens, glancing back _as if in fear._ After only a few steps, the Blight mage squeezed a bronze wand and spoke a dwarven word, and the golem swooped the pleading hurlock off the ground like a hunting hawk. The Wardens and their party watched stunned as the golem broke it in half like a loaf of bread.

 _“You.”_ Another hurlock who grinned. The Blight mage paid no mind to the weapons drawn. “The One who has killed the Archdemon.”

Tess scoffed. “How is it _darkspawn_ know who I am, but people on the _surface_ don’t fucking _recognize_ me?”

“They must have _Wanted_ posters,” Nathaniel suggested, eyes on the opposition. He held his bow so tight his knuckles were white.

Tess scoffed again. “If only.” Pause. “I want to _see_ those. I didn’t know Darkspawn could draw.”

“Right.” Anders nodded. “We’ll hang one up at The Keep.”

“Right behind the throne, right? That’s a good spot.”

“Right.” Anders shot a fist of stone at the talking hurlock.

With that, combat broke out like a bomb. While the massive metal golem moved slow, the hurlock threw spell after spell as if trained as a battlemage. No one could approach the golem except from behind when others had it distracted. Zevran cut himself slicing into the golem’s armor, placing Anders also out of the fight to heal. Nathaniel’s arrows did no good on a metal body, forcing him to focus on the Blight mage. Shields did little unless all bashed at once, but before they found a way to down it, it always recovered _in seconds._ The hurlock cursed the Wardens; afflictions, misdirection, paralysis. Mental horrors put Pádraig and Nathaniel out of the game for what felt like eternity. Justice couldn’t risk a direct blow even for his Veil cloak to absorb and eject damage; the body would crumble when the golem hit. When the party fought together again at last, the hurlock changed the game.

Another dwarven word made the orange seams of the golem _glow._ Sigrun and Oghren yelled _RUN!,_ but it was a warning made too late. Seams caught flame, and with a bellowing roar like scratched metal, a pond of fire washed around. Teagan caught fire and Tess screamed for him; Alistair pushed the Arl into the pool. Hounds aflame followed suit, many shaking off only to reignite and splash back in. The rest of the party wore dragon scales, but heat was heat: too much melted anything. Flame so thick it might as well be lava. _How could they fight this thing without destroying themselves?_ Half Oghren’s beard burned off. Every time the hurlock spoke, the golem’s runes and seams lit up, and every punch brought another wave of angry fire. Even the quick and nimble rogues struggled to outrun the golem’s molten blows. _None_ of their weapons or magic made more than a dent so far. Everyone spent more time evading and patting themselves out than they did finding a weakness. Ser Pounce-a-Lot mewled in pain; Anders did his best to heal his cat with everyone else at once.

But not Tess. Caught in a burning shroud, Tess shrieked so high it gave them _chills_ amidst fire. Masculine voices shouted her name like a frantic choir.

Then, her gasp echoed as the flaming cloak sucked into her like smoke through a vent. _Absorbing_ it, like she absorbed magic in the Architect’s mine. “It’s magic! It’s _magic_ fire! EVERYONE BACK IN THE HALL _NOW!”_ she ordered. **_“NOW!!!_ ** Anders, hold a barrier! _NO_ one comes through till I’m done!”

Anders stared at her as his feet moved anyway. He already didn’t like whatever she intended. Staring back, _holding_ the cloak of flame about herself instead of deflect. Tess held it in for some unholy reason, slowing the rate she absorbed each wash of fire. _She meant to do something that would harm them all;_ to _risk_ herself. Anders didn’t want to obey, but the look in her eye as he backed away said he had to. This was _her_ job. This was _her_ talent.

The Commander could absorb and deflect magic for a reason. She _had_ to stop this.

Pádraig protested, Alistair cried out as the golem charged - but for the first time, fell back when she ordered. Po howled for his mistress. Teagan, dripping and confused, yelled for Tess, yelled for Anders to _put her out._ Sigrun and Justice called out in alarm for their Commander.

The last thing Anders saw before his strongest barrier cut off access to Tess was water swelling up through the grates.

They saw nothing through the bold, shimmering blue barrier. Noises of surprise and cries of concern rang out as the floor shook beneath them. Cries and scoffs from the others side muffled by magic and water came with a violent wet storm. Waves grew around them, rocking off balance those who stood too close. Mabari whimpered, Po whined and barked at barrier, vexed it wouldn’t let him through.

A bright orange glow grew from the other side. As if on cue, the water around them boiled. They clustered together in a line from the barrier, trying to stay out of reach, but the bubbles kept swelling. The first broke with a unanimous shriek of pain and a hot mist. But Anders couldn’t help anyone. Trying to pull extra mana to create a healing aura weakened the barrier almost to destruction. They felt the rush of flames like a raging wildfire; _what the fuck was Tess doing?!_ It was like they walked into an oven. Anders apologized as he put all his strength back into the barrier. He had no choice; they would _fry._

Nate yelled for everyone to cover their heads. Pádraig ordered Justice to shield Teagan. Chaotic water glimmered yellow and orange; the only window into Tess combating a massive lava-dripping golem alone. Anders tried to yell for everyone to run back the way they came, but between noises of pain, the raging fire, bubbling water, and Tess’ screams, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. _Then it grew hotter._ As if Tess meant to _melt_ them; without the sloshing cistern, they might. Orange on the other side lightened, like glowing winter mint through the barrier now. Hotter and _hotter._ Anders dripped; sweat or steam, he didn’t know. His fingers stung from strain and heat; more a smithy than oven. The stone floor shook and rushed fear and panic back. Anders squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force his mind away from _closing_ and _crumbling,_ but too much went on at once. Lyrium wasn’t helping; he seemed to sweat it out as soon as he swallowed it. The barrier wouldn’t hold much longer. _Anders_ wouldn’t hold up much longer.

Then a green glare exploded so bright it ached eyes, rang ears,broke the barrier, and knocked Anders to the floor.

When vision and balance returned, Anders checked the cat in his armor and stood. And almost slipped on ice beneath his feet.

Slipping, bracing each other, they looked up to find water hardening to ice through the hurlock and golem like giant glacial spikes. The metal head and a massive arm broke off as ice became like stone. The buried hurlock cracked, shattered, and crumbled into a small avalanche. A half-melted metal foot, half a melting leg, and the fallen arm and head of the golem also fell prey to the cold, and what the monstrosity used as weapons not long ago now froze so deep they reflected like polished glass. She’d used the golem’s own fire against it, then turned its very lair into a weapon.

Anders didn’t have time to awe like the rest. Alistair noticed, also, as Anders scrambled to his feet once more and reached the woman with wisps of fire in her hair. A round of voices called out in concern as Anders and the King crashed to her side. Together, Tess’ lovers lost breath and paled.

Hot coals and tiny ribbons of flame almost _lived_ in her skin. It took Anders what felt like too long to get ahold of himself and begin healing. _He’d never seen anything like it before;_ it didn’t look a thing someone could _survive._ The others gathered around, watched Tess shiver and jerk. _Like she was stuck in withdrawal and about to erupt._ Zevran yelped so loud out of place he made everyone jump. He shouted for lyrium, prompting Alistair to recall Tess needed it to _feed the magic;_ Anders, also, recalled she used it to help absorb magic. But Anders was empty; he’d gone through his personal stash holding the barrier. _And he had no fucking room to do anything!_ He redirected his mana into a mind-blast for elbow space, and ignored the complaints to order lyrium from the bags. When he turned back to Tess, she reached out, stammering for Justice.

While others searched bags, Justice approached, asking his Commander what aid he could offer. Tess shook with a deep breath, pulling herself up enough to grab the corpse’s arm. Though trembling, she slid his gauntlet off with ease, then her own. Justice and Anders exchanged a curious glance as Tess twisted the lyrium ring from a decaying hand and wore it instead herself.

“What is that?” Alistair asked. But the answer became clear without words. Before their eyes, the effect of hot coals and fire ribbons faded from Tess’ skin. Not all, but a significant difference that struck a chord in the King. “Is that lyrium?” he wondered.

And as if Justice saw something no one else knew, his Veil cloak rushed to existence around him. Its normal whispering chimes filled the hall like a song of heroism or hope. Justice held his hand out, and for a moment Tess stared up.

Alistair asked what was happening. Someone knocked against Anders’ shoulder with blue potions. But Tess took Justice’s hand, and in the moment the Veil cloak embraced her, nothing else mattered. Tess breathed like she hadn’t in years, and with her gasp behind the violet blur, her skin and hair faded to normal and strength returned.

Tess pulled herself up with Justice’s arm. Anders stood with her. He didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t stop. So many things clicked into place for him, right then. And he couldn't even sit to organize his mind down here.

“Thank you, Justice,” her voice came in and out of a cone as Justice’s Veil cloak dropped. Glancing around brought guilt to her face, though. Anders followed her eyes and remembered most of them had been scalded when she’d redirected the golem’s fire. Teagan and the hounds, the only ones not wearing heat-resistant dragon scales, came out the worst. While no one wore boils, skin was scarlet and blotchy, and most hounds whimpered with each step. Burns that looked painful even from a distance. Those affected began applying balms. Some hounds even laid right on the ice. Ignoring Alistair’s repeated concerns, Tess met Anders eyes with apology. “Will you heal me?” So she could heal them all. The only way she knew to make up for hurting when she meant to protect.

Anders replied with a smile. Too big a heart to let even those she disliked suffer. He swelled his mana, intending the potent spell the Architect taught him, and like before when Anders was shot, her own intent sucked it out of him. Prepared this time though fighting a wince of pain, he allowed her to borrow some of his life-force. As before, Tess thrust his spell back out in an aura that rushed through them all like strong wind. Just like that, discomfort was gone and energy refilled.

Locked in a gaze, Tess squeezed Anders’ hand. She may not know how to heal on her own, but together, they performed extraordinary magic, and their efforts lingered. A pale fog pulsed from her to the beat of a heart, leaving a visible mark like tiny blue sparkling diamonds on everyone.

“What the fuck just happened?” Alistair holding out his arms, looking down at himself, no doubt wondering why he felt so good. Anders dropped Tess’ hand and stepped back.

For a moment, he’d forgotten her _husband_ was right there.

Tess gave Alistair a double-take, drawing Anders’ curiosity. She’d said Alistair had worried over his scars as much as she hers. _“My scars mean nothing without yours,”_ Tess had quoted Alistair back in Denerim.

Looked like Alistair wouldn’t worry about his scars anymore.

Sigrun made a noise of disappointment. “Pádraig won’t scar _after_ all.”

“Shame,” Anders commented without looking over. Tess fought a smirk. Her pulsing healing aura evaporated, but the sparkle remained in her eyes.

 _“Terrible_ shame,” Nathaniel agreed.

“What?” Pádraig asked, oblivious to or ignoring their sarcasm.

“Holy shit. She’s right.” Zevran stared amazed. _“What_ did you _do?”_ Zevran looked over like he’d never seen a thing like Tess before. Any moment, it seemed, he might poke her with a stick.

Po responded with a loud happy bark, as if Zevran understood him.

“My dear--?” Teagan cut himself off, too stunned to even finish asking.

 _“On_ that note!” Sigrun was a sudden cheerful again. “I _love_ when you _do_ that, Commander! I feel _great_ again!”

“At this rate, Justice, your body will come back to life,” Nate said.

Justice frowned, wary. “That is a disturbing notion.” Only then did Anders notice time had reversed on the corpse once more.

“Would that even _work?”_ Sigrun asked. “Will the original spirit come back? Actually, that might spice things up a bit! If it does, can I talk to it? Can two spirits _be_ in one body at the same time? I mean, without becoming one of those abomination things?”

“Yes,” Tess turned, affection she shared with Anders carrying over to those who appreciated her talents. “An elderly Healer we traveled with during the Blight shared her body with a spirit of Compassion. She wasn’t an abomination. We couldn’t talk to it like we can Justice, but it was inside her, and it came out to help her at times.”

 _“Oooh,_ that would be _so_ neat to see! Did she _glow?_ Like Justice does?”

“Cousin, she is _just like_ you sometimes.”

“We _do_ have a lot in common. Except magic. I can’t heal people. Or set stuff on fire. But maybe I _could_ if I had _runes_ in my skin! Can someone give me a _lyrium_ tattoo? _That_ would work, right?” Sigrun nodded at Anders like she hoped he’d tell her what she wanted to hear. “Then I could just _ZAP!”_ She held out a hand and pretended to shoot lightning at Pádraig. Nate was right, Sigrun sometimes matched Tess charm for enthusiasm.

“That’s fucking cute.” Pádraig sneered at her before turning away. Anders couldn’t help a laugh.

“Wait. You _healed_ us?” Alistair stared at Tess.

Anders lost his smile. The King stared at his wife in awe yet caution, like he'd not thought healing possible from Tess. “In her own way,” he praised. “Our Commander is quite capable.” From the corner of his eye, Pádraig’s head hung. He also doubted Tess, though she had saved his face from acid, and now healed the scars.

It seemed the royal entourage needed daily examples to remember _Tess_ ended the Blight. It was a tall, heavy pedestal they put her on. Anders didn’t think any of it fair. She shouldn’t need to _prove_ herself to be respected. No one need to.

The conversation carried on around them. Anders exploited the distraction to attend to Tess, even if she did not need it. It was more a chance to be with her when he couldn’t. Everyone had recovered from their burns, and with Alistair now engrossed with others, time permitted Anders’ full attention on the amazing woman before him.

While he offered her water and dried fruit from a hip sack, Anders reflected. He believed he got a full taste of her addiction. Rather, how her past addiction affected her today. The lyrium inside her seemed to feed off lyrium outside her. While not a thing she craved like clockwork, it had become part of her. Not _just_ part of her, but her body treated it as life-force. Lyrium helped her heal from magical attacks not because of its stimulant properties, but because it was part of the Fade. Justice’s very access to the Fade - being of the Fade himself - restored the lyrium in her bones when he engulfed her in the cloak, and thus restored _her._ The Fade _healed_ her; it went with Justice's cloak _recognizing_ her as part of the Fade. _The Fade thought she was part of it._ Contact with it helped the lyrium inside her regenerate her lyrium-laden marrow, as it restored spirits and demons. For Tess, lyrium potions might equate blood transfusions.

…. Was that the reason she couldn’t grow a baby past six weeks? Did her lyrium-laden blood prevent her eggs from forming a new person? Lyrium-addled fetuses began growing malformed, so her body rejected them?

Another thought crossed his mind with a huff. If anyone could go around the Chantry and control the lyrium trade, it was Tess. If caught smuggling, she could disguise shipping large quantities on her addiction, which according to Tess could be verified by the First Enchanter. Even claiming she buys mass quantities for _Warden_ use could go undisputed.

Nathaniel and Pádraig approached the golem shell nearby. “Anders? Did you see this?” Nate asked.

“No. Any runes left?” Anders glanced at Tess and touched her arm with a smile before joining Nate.

“Some. But look. And there.” Nate pointed to the golem feet and what remained of the Blight mage, and Anders found himself captivated.

Only seen in a glimpse when the barrier fell, the golem’s feet had melted in part to the floor, and same with the hurlock’s boots. The armor of the other hurlock - the one ripped in half when they arrived - also melted. But not just melted. Melted, then cooled by the rush of water that became impaling ice.

That was no mere magic. Even if all she did was us its own fire against it, _Tess melted metal with magic._ Anders’ hadn’t _heard_ of that, and Tevinter magi had tried for centuries.

“I suddenly feel very fortunate my cousin had not mastered her magic the night she recruited me.”

Anders huffed with a grin. He'd been asleep when that happened, but they told him the tale. The two fought, and Tess set Nate's shirt on fire. "Yeah!" he laughed. "But imagine _that_ story!" He giggled again when Nate pushed him.

“The _Archdemon’s_ lucky she didn’t have all this magic that night on the tower,” Oghren said from the other side of Nate.

That was another thought for Anders to process when they returned home.

He watched Tess. Standing off with Alistair, for once not arguing; that Anders could tell. The longer he watched, the more Alistair’s expression changed. Uncertainty dissipated with a sort of reverence; a look Tess once described _and missed_ before her scars vanished, when she thought herself hideous. She lit her hand with a dim version of her Veil cloak and brought it up, and after a while, the King touched his mage-wife’s magic hand. After folding his fingers around hers, after moments of feeling her magic as _part of her hand,_ Alistair even smiled. Awe and admiration _for her magic_ showed on the King’s face for the first time since Tess’ womb healed. _Hope._

No one could deny Alistair looked head-over-heels. Still broken, but hopeful and in love. Anders even thought he glimpsed the _boy_ Tess said she first fell in love with.

The fact it took Alistair this long to see admitting Tess was a mage _wasn’t a bad thing_ irked Anders. But at the same time, he was glad it arrived. Alistair was trying to accept Tess’ magic for what it was. It was a huge step up not only for Tess, but the atmosphere. Anders believed part of their discord stemmed from fear of Templars coming for Tess. It was a valid fear Anders appreciated, but it had caused unnecessary strain not only for them, but those around them. Rivalry didn’t want Alistair happy with her magic, but the pain that bled through when Tess hurt made Anders want her marriage to heal.

He hoped Alistair looked at her like this after she killed the Archdemon. From how she spoke of the Bight, Anders hoped the _Archdemon_ revered Tess.

And… Anders watched harder.

Tess got her magic from the Archdemon. In truth, she became a conduit for magic by using too much lyrium for too long; everyone knew the story now. It allowed her to absorb mana - or something that _gave_ her mana - upon the Archdemon’s death.

_But maybe it went further than that?_

He saw the scorch stains from the Archdemon on the bridge into the Denerim alienage; Elven Gardens, _excuse him._ Not even the Archdemon melted rock. But Tess, here, melted _metal,_ fusing it with the stone foundations and the grates on the cistern floor. She had power and strength Anders hadn’t heard of before; power that would drive Magisters mad with envy if they knew. Power the Chantry would try to _eradicate_ if they knew about. And he felt certain Tess could destroy the Chantry if they ever came after her. Not even all the Templars at once could take her on. Not if she could melt a heat-resistant golem the size of a house.

... Nate only joked about it… Anders only toyed with the idea when she borrowed his talent to over-heal everyone; twice. She’d already saved one oppressed man; Anders still didn’t feel he could repay her in kind. Though considering she changed the lives of all she met, she saved _countless_ slaves to misery and restored hope. Two and half years ago, Tess _saved the_ _world_ from a _Blight_ and survived to _keep_ saving. Now this…

… _Was_ she? _Was Tess the incarnation of Andraste?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	38. Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No victory lasts long for Wardens in Darkspawn territory, especially not ones caught up in a strife-wrought love triangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Light, by Disturbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LypjOTTH6E)  
> [Memories, by Within Temptation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhzJO34SCoc)

The night… or whatever it was, fared stranger than anything the Wardens yet faced in Kal’Hirol. _Civility._ Compared to inferno golems, talking darkspawn, and acidic blood, civility with the King’s party was _alien._

No. Anders shook his head at the voiceless word in his head. Civility wasn’t quite it.

He glanced around as he helped Tess melt the ice she’d created. They decided to camp there, where water was clean and darkspawn Taint was out of range. It was as good a place as any in the Deep Roads. It was also safe enough to let guards down for a while, and it showed on everyone. They survived a golem who threw liquid fire, they survived the cistern boiling, and before shock of that wore off, the woman who should not be a mage over-achieved a healing spell. For some in their party, the day created more questions than answers, and it took tension with it. Breath, relaxed shoulders, _forsaken civility. Thanks._ Genuine cheer, no urge to argue, no glaring. No attempted murder. Relief made them almost _giddy;_ it was also possible Tess’ healing caused it. The aura was almost like… they were all _friends._

Alien. _Alien_ was a good word. The Arl seemed little different, but Anders had never met _this_ King, General, or Assassin who helped set up camp. _This wasn’t the same man who tried to kill him._ If he didn’t know better, he might think they were possessed.

With their elbow of the cistern almost free from ice, tents went up between falling water. With the falls and sounds that could pass for raindrops, even Anders found himself at ease; more than in the rest of the thaig at least. Smiling didn’t feel forced, he even had an appetite and talked with the others as they all pitched in.

Though through conversation like old friends, eyes never left Tess. Anders saw it on the faces of his fellow Wardens: they _knew_ now why Tess was the Commander, not Alistair. A stronger woman there never was: she feared pain, yet allowed fire to consume her to stop it from consuming others. She knew the risks, and she did what had to be done. She burdened pain - and risked death - _for them all._ To keep _them_ from suffering like _she_ did. It was no question why _she_ killed the Archdemon and not someone else. And from the faces of the King, his elf, and his short, stubborn General, they looked at Tess and _remembered_ ** _she’d saved the world._**

Anders kicked a last chunk of ice into the clear pool. _It’s about time they remembered._

He stood and stretched before joining Nate and Tess at the corpse of the massive golem. Nate pointed and moved his arm in lines, suggesting how to dismantle the shell to bring it home. Tess agreed, but her concern was re-assembling it once they took it apart. _A trophy statue;_ of course she wanted that. Nate then shrugged and suggested they make armor or shields of it instead.

 _“If_ we can drag it out,” Anders jumped in, “Master Wade will be _thrilled._ Can you hear him already? _I_ can: _‘Oh, Commander! Don’t_ **_tease_ ** _me like that! Let me see it, let me see it!_ **_Oooooh,_ ** _oh it’s simply_ **_superb!_ ** _Oh, I_ **_must_ ** _do something with this! You will let me, won’t you? Herren_ **_never_ ** _lets me do anything fun!’”_ Anders predicted, not forgetting to add the pout. Nate snorted and fought a grin. Tess didn’t bother holding hers in.

 _"Oh,_ no, _not_ the pout," Tess joked, shaking her head. _"Anything_ but the _pout."_ Anders couldn't help but giggle.

“Well, maybe Herren will be impressed for once,” Nate said. “The sheer size of this thing is ridiculous. Even with your dagger-” he nudged Tess; her diamond-coated dagger cut almost anything. “-I’m not sure how we’ll drag this back. We may have to bring the horses down here.”

“It _is_ impressive.” Anders nodded. “Too bad it tried to kill us. I’d have liked to study it.”

“Me too. Can you imagine a pet like this around The Keep? I’d teach it play _Fetch._ Po’s not so fond of the game since he became a Warden.” Tess shrugged a grimace. Not a trophy, a pet. Tess wanted a massive pet; _of course she did._ Anders couldn’t help a grin. She might be too adorable for her own good. She always knew how to make the best of things. Tess flicked her head back, but her eyes stayed on the golem. “That was _more_ impressive than the _Archdemon,_ _right?”_ she asked the King’s party; those who saw her end the Blight. Those who saw but didn’t act like she ended the Blight.

Anders and Nate looked over when Alistair hesitated. Pádraig also hesitated, wincing. Then Alistair shook his head.

“That was the _Archdemon_ _,_ Tess. There’s only _one_ every so many hundred years.”

“But this was almost as large and it had _lava_ at the seams. _And_ there’s only _one period,_ ” Tess pointed out.

Zevran snorted. “No way. The Archdemon was a legendary kill on top of a tower seen half the country away. We’re underground and the only other person who saw is dead. And I’m not sure talking darkspawn count as people anyway.”

“The _Legion of the Dead_ saw,” Tess said.

“The Legion of the Dead saw the Archdemon die, too,” he reminded with a sass and a nod.

“The _entire_ Legion of the Dead saw me kill _this_ thing.”

“That makes me sound much more impressive that I actually am,” Sigrun joked along.

“Don’t listen to them.” Anders smiled at Tess. _“I’m_ impressed.”

“As am I. I’m lucky all you did was _yell_ at me, in the dungeon,” Nathaniel says. “Anyone you _simply stab_ hasn’t a clue how _lucky_ they are.”

“You can say that again,” Alistair huffed. “I’m _surprised_ the darkspawn don’t keep Wanted posters up. I expected at least a couple. _Or_ they have little secret cults worshiping the woman who killed the Archdemon. You should have seen her the day we met. Do you remember that, Tess?” Alistair looked over, squatting to scratch a hound. “In the Wilds?”

“When I asked you to hold my purse because I was packed up?” Tess recalled.

Alistair smiled at her, and Anders on a sudden felt out of place. A smile from the King _to his wife,_ reeking of adoration Anders did not want to see. “About two seconds right before that.”

“Oh, yes. When you, that boring sod Jory, and Daveth the cheeky rogue stood there slack-jawed as if I’d _thrown a soot bomb_ _,_ _snuck up on darkspawn,_ and _opened_ a genlock’s _middle_ from _behind.”_

Alistair grinned at his wife, couldn’t seem to stop, no care his eyes watered in front of everyone. “That’s the one.” An obvious fond moment for the King.

“Then twenty minutes later, Daveth asked to marry me,” Tess fought a smirk.

Alistair laughed at the memory. “Right after you hacked a hurlock’s crotch in two!” His eyes squeezed shut in the thought. “And then we met Morrigan, and I thought you would propose to her.” The way Alistair gazed at his wife, none could wonder if he loved her. It showed, whether he wanted it to or not, and every moment it endured made Anders want to start off alone. “You all but drooled over her.”

The King adoring his wife was the sort of thing to reel Tess back in… and start the cycle of grief again. It would _never_ affect _only Tess_ anymore; Alistair _had_ to know that.

“I _did not!”_ Tess scoffed. “I _felt_ like I walked into a _sodding trap!_ I kept praying in my head she wouldn’t _scorch_ me!”

Alistair laughed and cooed at the same time. “Oh, Tess, you’re _serious?_ Maker, you looked _enraptured._ Daveth too, remember? I actually thought she put a _spell_ on us all.” He giggled hard. _“Chest-Seekers,”_ he snorted.

 _“Oh, void!”_ Tess huffed, unable to fight a grin. “That explains a _lot,_ though. That whole next day, you kept asking me if I _liked women._ I couldn’t figure out why you even brought it up.”

Alistair grinned at his wife still. Aloud, he remembered the morning after Tess’ Joining when he sat with her among trees, too busy giggling to hunt sluggish turkeys. He recalled wasting the day playing with feathers and drinking. _A perfect day._

A reminder no matter how much Anders related to Tess, _her husband_ already survived a _Blight_ with her. Whether Anders liked it or not, Tess would never leave the man.

“One of the best days of my life,” Alistair said with a distant gaze. “It feels like _eons_ ago.” When Tess looked over, Alistair’s smile widened. _In love_ and radiating; no one missed it.

Tess’ smile, others observed, wasn’t so gleeful. She stared at the King almost saddened, like she began remembering the boy she fell in love with. Like she remembered that boy and _mourned_ his absence in the King _finally helping_ her and her Wardens.

… And it hurt, already. For Anders to not run again, he’d have to steer clear of Alistair. That meant no more Denerim; at least not the palace district or the marketplace tavern. It meant sneaking around The Keep when the King visited. Or it might mean isolating himself, forcing separation so what bond he and Tess shared dissolved; which would only cause discomfort _at best._ Every hint of the boy Tess once loved meant one less place Anders could feel at home, even at Vigil’s Keep.

Anders didn’t want to spend the rest of his life on the verge of _running again._

 

 

It was easier when everyone slept. Anders accepted third watch, and his spirits leaped when Tess volunteered with him. Not that they needed watchmen with Justice and the hounds, but despite the _alien civility,_ Alistair’s past actions were still a concern. They weren’t sure Alistair wouldn’t try something else if he thought pleasantries anchored. They didn’t tell _him_ that, though.

She looked at him different from Alistair. While the King radiated for Tess, _she_ sparkled for _Anders._ An emanation that flowed like water and took them away from the troubles of the world. _Gratitude for the_ **_stillness_ ** _they gave each other._ In these moments, she was there for him and he for her, and the fact they were underground sounded almost preposterous. With the falls and the _drip drop drips,_ they could even pretend they were back in her Safe Place by the creek.

She looked at him, and Anders felt _safe._

 _She kissed him._ At risk of her husband’s wrath, she kissed him and snuggled in to be held. She wanted _Anders’_ arms around her. She wanted to hold _him._

It made _running again_ feel like the biggest mistake.

Like every other relief underground, the euphoria didn’t last. Alistair now understood Tess preferred the _Alistair she first met,_ and Tess couldn’t hide Anders was a more welcome sight. Nate and Arl Teagan with their silver tongues swayed discussion and tore eyes from Anders and Tess, but Alistair stared anyway. Anders counted it a miracle aggression didn’t spawn, but the King’s heartbreak was almost worst. It brought _guilt._ Alistair had tried to kill him, yet _Anders_ felt guilty.

And it festered in Anders. It felt like Alistair was manipulating him, like Alistair manipulated Tess to _recruit_ Anders then _punished_ her for it. Alistair played the part of the Chantry all too well for a man who said he was glad to be gone. Once a Templar, always a Templar; poke the mage with a stick till he summons demons for help, then blame the mage for the mess. _It wasn’t fair._ Being a Grey Warden was supposed to mean _freedom_ from the Chantry. Anders already had it worse than Alistair down here. The King trying to induce guilt felt like another slam of a Templar prison door. _Another reason to run again._

Tess in front of him making him want to stay, and Alistair behind making him watch his back. _It wasn’t fair._

 

 

 

 

_It wasn’t enough._

Blaring in front of his face since Alistair woke and found Tess and Anders asleep holding hands. _He thought the night went so well,_ a magnitude better than the past few months. But here it was before him as they packed up and continued their journey. _He was trying,_ he _wanted_ to show his wife he _could listen_ when she needed him to. _But it wasn’t enough._

Worse was recalling the night in his mind. As the morning wore on, her expression when they’d spoken of the day they’d met changed. Tess had smiled, and she’d seemed sad, but it didn’t click into place for Alistair till now. Till _after_ the _right moment_ had passed. It clicked into place with something else she’d said on the journey after Ostagar fell. Tess wasn’t sorrowful at the happy memory of meeting Alistair. She mourned the boy he was then.

He remembered that evening; the first night departing from Morrigan’s. Alistair remembered watching the firelight paint her pink and gold, and he thought she was _so beautiful._ He’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. He and Tess laid by the fire and fell asleep talking. _“Your innocence makes you precious,”_ she’d said, and losing innocence transformed people into creatures of greed who were never satisfied.

_Mourned._

Tess mourned the boy who did not know the cold world of politics and agendas. The boy who admired her strengths and wanted to see them _because it excited him._ She missed the boy who didn’t think she needed over-protecting. The boy who told her _everything,_ who made _her_ his _entire world;_ not conferred with others but wanted her a safety net. _It all made sense now._ _She mourned the boy who fell in love with her,_ not the man she married.

She was right. He’d lost his innocence to the world, and he had not been satisfied since. Back then, he thought she meant innocence to sex; thinking such even escalated their problems when they met Zevran and Shale. _But now he understood._ It wasn’t about his lost virginity, it wasn’t about how the Blight changed his view on the world, nor was it how being King changed what he was willing to sacrifice. It came down to _her_ and the _drastic change_ **_he’d_** made for **_her life_** by letting himself forget she was worthy of life outside _his_ realm of safety. Pieces of this puzzle came to him in Denerim when they all trained for this thaig, but _this_ hit _every_ chord. _She was right._ He had _never_ been satisfied with her safety, and it _shattered her world._ And he’d been so busy overprotecting her he never saw it. He’d invested in her _safety,_ not her. No wonder finding out about Celene on Jainen broke the bridge for her. His effort to keep her from _possible_ heartache breached her last limits.

 _This hurt._ Alistair didn’t know how to bring back that innocent boy who dreamed of something greater. Becoming King was the greatest step he’d ever make, and it was already taken; Alistair was at his pinnacle. And it allowed him to bury Tess in self-doubt - _make her question her urges to run_ \- so she would be safe while he attended to the kingdom. _Which he’d only wanted so he could give her what she deserved._

What _he_ thought she deserved.

He’d _thought_ he was cutting into her _ego,_ her desire to live up to her Sea Wolf mother’s reputation. He _wanted_ her to see she _didn’t need_ to prove her worth to him.

And now it was too late. Watching her melt each time she met Anders’ eyes… _how could he recover?_

He couldn’t. He couldn’t heal this. There was no turning back. It was over. It _felt_ over.

_He didn’t want it to be over._

_Maker,_ **_PLEASE,_ ** _say this isn’t over? Help me fix my marriage. Help me make it up to my wife. Please_ **_help me_ ** _make her_ **_love_ ** _me again? How can I prove I’m still me? Help me prove I still love her like I have from the start!_

 **_Please._ ** _I only ever wanted her there at the end of the day. I_ **_need_ ** _her there when I wake up._

To top it off, gaining ground led them right to swells of flesh which erupted with long, slimy tentacles.

Tess backed up with her arms out crying, “Nest! _NEST! Broodmother nest!!”_ before drawing her bow.

 _“Definitely a broodmother nest!”_ Sigrun agreed, jumping away from a swinging tentacle.

“At least these one can’t rip our faces off!” Zevran shouted as his arms slashed.

Tess whirled a tentacle around her bow - _the bow Alistair made her_ \- and sliced her dagger through - _the dagger Alistair made her._ _“Zevran!_ I _swear_ to these **_fucking_** Ancestors, _if you just_ ** _cursed_** _us--!!!”_

 _“Quick!_ Zevran, take it back!” Sigrun yelped.

An arrow whizzed by; Tess jumped with a curse. _“Bugger!_ They’ve _crossbows_ again!” No one needed look over to know she meant Darkspawn.

_Maker, hadn’t she said the same thing that night at Ostagar?_

_She had._ "Anders, Nate! On archers!" she ordered. And back then, Alistair shielded her so she could loose arrows.

Maker, _was that it? Did she need to_ **see** _he was still that boy?_

Alistair rushed ahead and swung his sword, and as she raised her bow and frosted the arrow, he shielded his wife. Stood at her back and held his shield firm afore her, _just like at Ostagar._

_Did she remember that night?_

As soon as she realized what covered her, Tess gasped and spun. For a second, she stood frozen and stared. _Did she remember?_ He’d tried to protect her from the start. Alistair _never_ meant to lose himself along the way. _He never meant for it to push her away!_

“I _love_ you!” he told her right then and there. “I _more_ than love you, Tess I _always have._ _I always will!”_ Alistair insisted. She glanced toward the tentacles and darkspawn; lucky for Alistair, the others covered them. Before she could snake away, he closed his shield arm around her and kissed her. There, in the middle of battle, kissing his wife. _Desperate_ to keep her. _“Forever,_ if that’s how long I have to wait. _I’m in this for good, Tess!”_

Alistair raised his shield before she even ducked. “I understand that!” Whether she meant to grab on, she did. “But it doesn’t change what you did! It doesn’t change that you _hurt_ me! You hurt _us!_ What if _nothing_ ever changes? I don’t-”

Alistair cut her off with another kiss, hard, trying to show how much he loved her when he could prove nothing else in battle.

"Not to undermine authority-” Anders yelled from behind, “but the _Healer_ says _fight first, kiss later!"_

Alistair pulled back and yelled _“Stay out of it, mage!”_ but Tess took the moment to leave. Calling for his wife got lost among the noise of a lightning storm, slapping flesh, and clanking metal. Tess charged her hand and threw shards of stone like Qunari throwing stars.

“You don’t order me!” Anders stamped his staff with glowing hands; ice and a fist of rock flew by the King. “Down here, you’re just a guy who watched Tess kill the Archdemon!”

Alistair swung his shield and kicked. Jaw tight, he glared at Tess between a strike and a parry. _“This_ is why I didn’t want to stay a Warden!” he growled.

“And what about _me?”_ Tess cried back, fighting paces away. _“I_ didn’t have a choice in this life, Alistair! Don’t you care about that? You made this decision _for_ me, for the _rest of my life!”_ She dodged a high sweep, igniting her hand.

Alistair couldn’t move. _No. No it_ **_wasn’t like_ ** _that._ It wasn’t --- _supposed_ to be like that… Maker, is _that_ what she thought? She thought he _condemned_ her? They weren’t supposed to be _down_ here! _None_ of this was supposed to happen! _Commander_ was supposed to be _title only!_ He wasn’t -- _did_ he?? _He didn’t mean to condemn her!_

Tess drove her fist before the hurlock had time to balance. “Instead of saying _'I'll take the job so my wife doesn't have to',_ or even assign _someone else,_ _you_ decided my _fate!_ You decided the _rest of my life_ for me! _And now it's too late for me!”_ She looked back as she drew an arrow. “I can't just turn my back! Not like _you_ will when we get out of here! I have people I'm _responsible_ for now! If I turn my back on them, _they die!"_

 _No!_ He did _not mean_ for this! _This wasn’t supposed to be a death sentence! He wasn’t condemning her! He just wanted people to respect her! To_ ** _love_** _her, like_ ** _he_** _loved her!_

 _Ohh, Maker!_ And it gave her _Anders._ _He_ gave her Anders. Maker, _NO!_ _That’s not what he meant at all!_ This _couldn’t_ be the Maker’s idea of a sick joke! _“No,_ Tess!” Alistair swung his shield to unbalance a genlock. “That’s not what I-” and left himself open wide.

Something hard and sharp pressed too hard into his armor dead at his chest. _So much pain it chilled him._

_No--- Tess--!_

 

 

 _“ALISTAIR!!” Maker forsaken--!!! “Are you fucking kidding me?!”_ Anders yanked roots through the stone and tumbled out in time to see the King fall. _A bolt right through his chest._ “Oh, _shit!_ Alistair!” He dropped and gathered him. The only place to move was the corridor behind them. As soon as they broke through, Anders bellowed for Tess; voices beyond yelled for Alistair. Then Anders looked at the gasping man with the crossbow bolt in his chest. _Fuck fuck FUCK!_ Of all the fucking places to shoot the _King!_ If it missed his heart, Alistair would be lucky. But with as fast as Alistair grew pallid…

He couldn’t heal him like this. With it so close to his heart - _if it was in his heart_ \- he couldn’t isolate the wound in the Fade, because a human body so close to death would attract demons like flies.

“Alistair?” Anders patted his face quick. But the King was slowing. Breath came scant with pauses too long in between. Mortality all over his face. _The King thought he was dying._ _Worse_ to think this while arguing his wife. _“Look_ at me! Can you hear me?” Slow eyes shifted, but Alistair said nothing. “I need to paralyze you. Do you understand? Nod yo-- _no no no no!_ _Talk_ to me! Alistair, stay with me!” He turned the King’s head and leaned over. Pupils dilated and contracted like they didn’t know how to focus anymore. _Shit,_ that was not a good sign. “I have to paralyze you. Do you understand what that means? _Answer_ me! Do _not_ give up this easy! _Do you understand what that means?”_ Alistair’s head jerked. Anders didn’t know if it was voluntary. “I can’t take it out unless I paralyze you, it’s the only way I can stop you from bleeding out. But you’ll feel _everything._ It’s going to _hurt,_ and I can’t do anything about the pain until I have it out and sew you up. All right?” He nodded, searching, patting.

The King just shivered beneath him.

_Shit shit SHIT._

Anders threw up a barrier and set a paralysis glyph, then gripped the bolt with a deep breath. _Maker, don’t let this man die on me!_ He didn’t want to think about how it would affect Tess.

Another deep breath to steady his hand, then he ripped the bolt out. _Thank Andraste darkspawn didn’t use arrowheads!_ As fast as he could, Anders unbuckled and untied till he could lift the King’s armor off. Until ripping open the tunic froze him.

_Right in the heart._

_Maker fucking help me._

He could see it through the flood of dark red. A chip of bone and the unmistakable shiny grains of a lower chamber bared itself from the gaping hole. It didn’t matter it was only a small corner. _His fucking heart._ He wish he hadn’t fucking called it.

Anders looked at the unmoving King. _“Don’t fucking die._ Do you hear me?”

He wasn’t sure he could do this. He couldn’t take the wound into the Fade, he couldn’t sew it up. Even if he _could_ sew a heart in the middle of battle, Alistair would bleed out before he finished. _Hearts weren’t that simple._ Alistair needed potent, _instant,_ Tevinter heal--

 **_“TESS!!”_ ** Anders face stretched with his voice. _“GET OVER HERE_ **_NOW!!”_ **

_Thank the fucking Maker she was fast._ But she wasn’t prepared for this. Tess froze and turned white at the gushing hole in Alistair’s chest. She didn’t even breathe.

“You have to heal him,” Anders told her. But she still didn’t move. He knew it looked like a bad dream, but they had no time. Anders yanked her down and stared eye-to-eye. “He is _dying. Your husband is dying,_ Tess! You have to heal him!” She searched him like the pressure was too much. Worst nightmare, not prepared, _unthinkable._ Emeralds glossed like she held back emotional eruption of fright, and Tess shook her head. _Denial. Didn’t want to believe it._ She needed a push, a strong one.

Anders swelled his mana to both hands, still holding her collar. The strongest healing spell he knew, the one the Architect taught him. _“Heal him,_ Tess! If you hesitate, _Alistair dies_ here! _Take_ what you _need_ from me and _heal your husband!”_ Anders ordered his Commander. _“Now!”_

A rocky breath quaked through her with a spill of tears and she looked away. A hand went to his wrist and the other on Alistair’s wound. Anders yelled for Oghren to cover them and held the spell at his hands.

And he felt strength leave. Tess met his eyes with a wince as a pearly golden aura sucked inside her. _So much_ he began to ache. He felt her pull not just magic, but _life._ Tragic apology all over her face, quivering jaw, leaking eyes. He already knew how she felt: _sacrificing one lover for the other._ Anders would stop her before it came to that, but if she didn’t take at least _some_ of him, the King would die. Alistair below them wouldn’t last forever. As soon as the glyph wore off, he’d bleed out.

 _“Tess,”_ Anders urged, forcing his mana. _“Heal him! Every second counts!”_

Heartbreak pinched her face as she dropped her head in a nod. A deep breath; she let go of Anders and the golden wisps disappeared into her. Tess cringed into her arm.

It almost seemed like she wouldn’t do it. Like she already believed him dead.

Then the rush. With a cry of pain and strain, she released a bold blue aura so hard it pushed Anders to the floor and moved Alistair off the glyph. And as Anders scrambled back up, the King on the floor lurched to life with a hard gasp.

Tess opened her eyes and let out a wail of relief. Alistair leaned on one arm clutching his chest, face distorted in pain and horror and disbelief. The resurrected King repelled his hand with a hiss, and Tess, oblivious to all but success, leaned in to hug him. Anders had to stop her, though. He pushed their hands away and nudged Alistair’s shoulders till the King laid down again. Not healed in whole; a raw circle of flesh the size of a bolt. Anders needed to finish healing, but compared to a moment ago, it was only a scratch.

Anders looked at Tess and nodded, and smiled through a full breath. _“Great_ job,” he praised, “but get back out there. _Please._ I’ve got him. Make sure nothing gets past Oghren.”

Worry still carved her face, but Tess nodded. Her face pinched again when she looked down at Alistair. With a quivering chin, she leaned down and kissed her husband before running off.

Then sat Anders, healing a King the woman he loved would never stop mourning.

“How do you feel?” Anders peered over and looked while he healed. One hand felt for and counted heartbeats. The King didn’t speak though. “Alistair? I need you talk to me. What hurts? _How_ does it hurt?”

“Why not let me die?”

Anders did a double-take. “What for? _I_ don’t want your job. That’s how it works, right? Does it hurt to breathe?”

“You’d have her all to yourself. You’d never have to…” Alistair turned his head away with uneven breath, but not before Anders glimpsed a tear. “I tried to kill you. I _wanted_ to.”

“Thanks for reminding me, I was just starting to forget. How _deep_ does this hurt? Does your _back_ hurt?”

“So why not let me die?”

“You _want_ to die?” When Alistair didn’t answer again, Anders sighed again. “You really think I could stand there and let Tess watch you die?” he asked.

“But you wanted to.”

Anders almost laughed. “Don’t think you know me. I don’t have to _like_ you to _help_ you,” he said. Another pause. “All right, I’m just going to _assume_ your entire chest cavity hurts. Now, don’t move,” he joked to the motionless King.

 

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t come back.”_

_It’s dark out here, and cold, even with two fires lit. It feels like I feel right now. Cold, dark, and quiet. Even with Alistair sitting here._

_My husband scoffs with a broken face. “So this is what I_ **get** _for coming back? I_ **deserve** _this? I_ **deserved** _to_ **almost die** _because I came back when you didn’t want me to?_ **Tess.”** _Like I’m being unfair again._

 _“That’s not what I said, Alistair. Don’t do that to me. Don’t twist my words so you have someone to blame,” I tell him. “This isn’t court. It’s a_ **point of fact:** _if you never came back, you wouldn’t have been here to get shot. If you hadn’t decided to talk about_ **Us** _in battle when you came back, you wouldn’t have been distracted and shot. We already would have been out of there at the moment you got shot if we didn’t have to backtrack for Teagan. You coming back wasn’t_ **my** _decision. That is a fact, don’t you_ **dare** _try to make this my fault.”_

 _This isn’t fair. I never shot him, I didn’t even dodge something and let him take it for me. He didn’t_ **have** _to start a private talk in the middle of combat. I hate how he does this! I was so fucking worried I almost couldn’t see straight! Sigrun, Oghren, and Justice had to help me break a_ **single chain** _so we could drop the lyrium cube, that’s how bad it was for me. I almost watched my husband_ **die** _from one stupid bolt. It_ **still** _hurts, it still feels like he’s_ **dying.** _And he wants to blame_ **me? He** _isn’t being fair. It's making me regret my worry and guilt for his injury._

 _“I don’t want to fight, Tess,” he says. His head bobs with closed eyes. Spent, despite all the healing he’s had this past day. “Please. I’m too ti- I’m_ **too old** _to fight today.” That, at least, we agree on. I feel centuries old and stuck in a hoop of time when we argue. “Something_ **irreversible** _almost happened, and if you weren’t there… I didn’t know it would scare me that much.” He pauses to breath deep. “I thought of you. I saw your face as I… blacked out. It was the last thing I saw before I woke up and found you’d healed me. Not you sitting there, but memories.” He doesn’t bother stopping a stray tear. “I remembered when we got married, both times. The temple of Andraste, do you remember? And I saw you on the roof of Fort Drakon. I remembered fearing I would never see you again. Just like today. That hurt worse than Anders rip- ripping that_ **forsaken twig** _out of my chest. That scares me more than_ **anything,** _Tess.”_

 _Why is he doing this? Why does he have to do this_ **now?**

 _My husband turns to meet my eyes. His face is long and set. His mind is made up about something. “I love you. You don’t have to like it, but I_ **love** _you, Tess. I’m in this for good. I’m in our_ **marriage** _for good. I don’t_ **want** _anyone else. And I_ **want** _you to come_ **home.** _I don’t even care about the conditions anymore.” He shakes his head. His eyes drop after hesitation. “I keep wanting to blame stuff on_ **conditions.** _Love is supposed to be_ **unconditional.** _That’s how_ **fairytales** _and the_ **Chantry** _made it seem, anyway.” Alistair’s trying not to cry again. “One thing I’ve learned from all this is… I’ve-_ **I’ve** _made a lot of conditions for you. Without even talking to you about them first.” He nods and swallows. The firelight on his forehead almost blinds his brows from me. “I keep wanting to be mad at the conditions you want to_ **me** _to honor for you to move back in, but… I’d already made all those others. And I wasn’t trying to be cruel, I_ **wasn’t trying** _to keep you out of them, I just… thought I could take care of it all before anything happened, that way we won’t_ **need** _to worry whe-_ **if** _it happens. And I’ve had more time than I ever wanted to reflect on them all.” He looks at me with a small, forced smile. “So no conditions. I mean, I’m_ **not** _going to_ **argue** _them anymore. Anything you need, you have it. Long walks outside, or moving your solar,_ **whatever you want.** _I won’t argue it.”_

 _He shakes his head with glassy eyes. “I almost didn’t have the chance to try anymore. And I don’t want risk it again. I don’t want to lose you, Tess. I_ **can’t.** _You’re_ **me.** _I’ve- I’ve invested_ **so much** _into loving you that_ **that’s** _how it_ **feels** _for me. You’re_ **part** _of me. You’re my_ **calm** _place, Tess. No matter what happened, you’ve_ **always** _been there for me at the end of the day. That’s when I_ **need** _you_ **most.** _You made every stressful moment of being King_ **worth** _it. You made the_ **_Blight_ ** _worth surviving. I don’t want to live without you. I don’t think I have the_ **will** _to. When I married you, I promised to love you forever. Underneath everything else, that’s_ **all I am** _now. It’s why I force myself into that courtroom every day with that heavy crown on my head.”_

_The breeze chills water on my face. Alistair watches my cheeks. A long blink pushes his own tears out when he brings a thumb up to mine._

_I wish he would have said these things to me in Denerim. Or when he found me in the Wood._

_“I never meant to push you away._ **Never.** _I was trying to give you the easiest life possible, I thought you_ **wanted** _that, to_ **relax** _for once the rest of your life. I thought being_ **Commander** _would be easy,_ **too.** _I honestly thought it would be a_ **temporary** _title till we trained someone else. I_ **wasn’t trying** _to pawn a job I didn’t want on to you. I_ **don’t** _want it. But I didn’t think anything would happen while_ **you** _were Commander.”_

 _“Alistair,_ **you left** _me there_ **knowing** _a darkspawn problem_ **needed dealing with,”** _I remind him. “How did you think nothing would happen?”_

 _He shakes his head. “There are stragglers_ **all** _the_ **time,** _Tess. It wasn’t supposed to be this big. I thought that’s all it was, stragglers.” Alistair pauses, staring into the void towards the ground. Then he turns his whole body to face me. “I love you too much, Tess. So much I don’t know how to_ **live** **without** _you. You’ve_ **been** _there with me since we_ **met.** _I don’t know what to do with so much of myself_ **gone.** _I wasn’t even scared of dying today. I was_ **scared** _I’d_ **never see** _you again._ **That’s** _what frightened me. Everything else feels_ **trivial** _now. I feel like…” his eyes drift again “I feel like I wasted a_ **year** _worrying over_ **nothing.** _It hasn’t even been a few months.” Alistair takes another moment to breathe and think. Then he sits straighter. A cool hand warms right up on mine. “I’ll work with whatever you need, Tess._ **Anything you need** _to make the palace your home again. I can_ **promise** _this time.”_

_For a long moment, I can only watch him. He looks genuine, he sounds true. But he always has. Every declaration of love and every kiss has always rang true, yet still he lied and hid weighty things from. Some things quite serious; Zevran taking the Crows to war and leading them to Denerim is a grand example._

_“Stop going overboard protecting me.” I search his eyes._ **“Please.** _Stop making decisions_ **for** _me, in_ **my** _best interest. Not much you’ve decided for me has ever helped, Alistair.” Guilt pangs when he winces. “I’m_ **sorry** _I have to stay that, but it’s_ **true.** _None of you even know what I_ **like** _anymore. I need - I need to_ **see** _it stopping, not just words. I don’t want Denerim to feel like a place to avoid again. I_ **don’t want** _that.”_

 _My husband nods, fast and eager. “As soon as we get home, you can see it all. Every letter, every request. I_ **can promise** _this time, Tess:_ **whatever you need,”** _he insists. He glances away for a moment and his brows raise in doubt. “You might need to make me_ **keep** _my promises. Just in case. I know I haven’t been very good at that.”_

_Just like that, memory floods me. Every tear he shed over our Deep Roads struggles, breaking his promises to protect me during the Blight. The shame of standing before mirrors and seeing our skin clinging to bones. Every scar we gained; it doesn’t matter they’ve all healed now. Alistair’s face distorts again as I cry._

_I_ **hate** _crying._

 _Through water, I find my husband’s hand and hug it to my chest. He’s right. Everything feels stupid and insignificant. He almost_ **died,** _and I’m sitting here asking him to give me free reign. I just told him nothing he’s done has ever helped._

 _“Not everything is something you can control, Alistair.” I blink a few times so I can see him. His eyes look about ready to leak, also. “I don’t want an easy life, Alistair. I don’t think you do, either. I just want it to be_ **good.** _Can we settle for_ **both** _of us being happy?” I ask._

 _My husband stares in both my eyes a while. “Can we figure out what that means_ **together,** _Tess?”_

_We don’t have much choice at this point. Do we?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	39. Latitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom for Anders, and explaining to Anora makes Tess reflect on life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Light, by Disturbed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LypjOTTH6E)  
> [Indra, by E.S. Posthumus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tASQLN_EjPM)

_Our party has split again. With our job in Kal’Hirol complete, Teagan took Alistair back to Denerim. My Wardens weren’t thrilled I’d chosen to stay longer, but when I told them the plan, they agreed - in part, I believe, to appease my madness. My cousin and Anders rode back to Vigil’s Keep and retrieved a wagon, from whence Sigrun, Oghren, Justice and me retraced our steps out of the thaig. As much lyrium as I could dig up, and the full buckets of preserved, refined lyrium by the golem smith. We stunk once again when we re-surfaced. Nathaniel called me mad, Anders said we needed a bath. Then we began our long-awaited return journey home, with so much lyrium we almost glowed._

_Anders knew my decision before I got the chance to say it. He followed me to my Safe Place by the creek when we returned, and he already knew. I told my husband I would move back in for awhile. I would try, and in turn Alistair promised to be more attentive to what I need rather than worry I might be less than happy for an hour. And Anders already knew._

_He reminds me we both knew this day would come. We both knew I’d be faced with a choice that might leave either him or Alistair alone. He knows who he got involved with._

_I look at him with a pout I can’t stop. I never want to leave him. I don’t want to stay goodbye to the peace he brings me. My heart hurts in the most unforgiving manner when I think of it._

_“I don’t want to choose,” I tell him. He’s the first person to love every bit of me without expectation, to not expect me to act like or want what someone else does. He’s the first one to appreciate my talents as they already are._

_Anders - my Baldric - smiles for me, draws me in tight with a kiss. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises._

_I believe him._

_Now, when sun has begun to set and The Keep is settling down, I sit in my room, unable to make a decision. A bottle turns between my fingers, an almost oily shine to the glass as it reflects the candelabra._

_An elixir to prevent pregnancy. Anders said it does not guarantee prevention, but in most cases, it does a damn good job; like with the more promiscuous women in the Circle. Part of me doesn’t want to use it. Some of Alistair’s argument from after my last miscarriage comes to light: ‘How do_ **you** _know the Maker hasn’t set aside a_ **specific egg** _and_ **specific seed** _for a_ **specific child?** _The Maker orchestrates_ **everything,** _Tess! Children aren’t made by accident! Aren’t_ **we** _proof of that? That mage_ **stole a child** _from me!’ It was his excuse for trying to kill Anders. I learned later Teagan explained conception does not work like that, but Alistair would not have it._

 _Taking this potion could prevent anymore incidents like that. I could_ **have** _my life here at The Keep and still do my duty as wife of a King. Without anymore threats on Anders’ life._

_But if Alistair is right… and taking this potion prevents a child meant to exist - a child meant to rule when we are dead… then I have killed that child before his moment of conception. I have killed a union of the Cousland, Mac Eanraig, and Theirin lines; three of the most important tribes in Ferelden history. I will have cheated my parents’ names; I’ll have cheated history’s effort. It also means political pressure when I fail to produce an heir._

_There’s too much to consider._

_On another hand, Seneschal Varel reported increasing darkspawn sightings and attacks in the mere time we’ve been gone. I can’t_ **not** _take this potion if we’ve still a threat to stop. Sometime soon, we will have to address whatever this Mother creature is and end her._

_… But it means not getting pregnant. If a conception stopped by this potion happens to be a child my body decides to keep… then I’ve killed my chance._

_But how do I even know I’m_ **meant** _for motherhood? A_ **genlock** _of_ **all** _things knew where to hit me to end pregnancy._ **It** _knew I carried before_ **I** _did._

_“Do you want to try again?” Anders asks. My eyes fly almost faster than my head can move. I’m sitting here so conflicted I couldn’t hear bustle past my open door._

_He leans against my doorway with a look that says he knows what I’ve been thinking. He always seems to know._

_“Is it worth it?” I didn’t mean to say that. But it’s how I feel right now._

_He cocks his head in a frown of concern and steps in, closing the door behind him. His eyes linger on the bottle as my bed depresses beneath him. “It might be. If it works this time, of course.” He’s trying to be supportive._

_I can’t look at him. His words made my eyes fill. “But things keep happening to stop it. Like… like Nature is trying to stop what shouldn’t be.”_

_Anders holds an open palm on his lap. I dare myself to look at him when I lay my hand down. “Should and Shouldn’t are kind of relative, though, Tess. Nature doesn’t impose those kinds of limits. Those are_ **people** _ideas, from_ **jealousy** _and_ **religion.** _If something doesn’t grow right, Nature just…” he pauses to shrug. “Tries again. I think it considers things like that_ **practice.** _Not failures." He searches my face for a while, lifting a hand to wipe my leaking eyes. “If Nature gave up every time something didn’t grow right or didn’t grow at all, there would be no trees or flowers. No healing herbs. Even_ **poisonous** _plants can help the world. And how many squirrels and birds eat seeds before they sprout?”_

 _“But Nature is so much bigger than we are.” I shake my head. “For every one seed that doesn’t root, up pop_ **dozens** _a pace over. It doesn’t work like that for me, Baldric.” I only call him that when we’re alone. “If_ **every tree** _sprouted, Thedas would be nothing_ **but** _trees. It’s so much bigger than me. It’s_ **purpose** _is_ **grander.”**

 **“You** _ended the_ **Blight.”**

 _I look up to see him shrug. It hurts him to see me like this, I know. I already took my antidepressant potion, but it doesn’t feel like it’s working yet. Or maybe it is, since_ **everything** _hurts._

_I also didn’t have time to think about lo… losing this baby in Kal’Hirol._

_“For as small as you are to a tree,_ **you** _did something grander than the_ **whole world,** _Tess._ **No trees** _stopped the Blight.”_

 _“They_ **should** _have. It would have made it a lot easier.” I don't mean to be funny, but Anders smiles all the same._

 _“My point is,” he still smiles, “a couple mishaps don’t mean it will always be like that.” His brows shrug this time. “We’ve had some_ **shitty** _misfortunes. Even as_ **protectors of the world,** _life can’t_ **always** _be this rough. It_ **can’t** _be.” A short pause._ **“Example:** _we’ve had_ **great** _times, alone_ **and** _with the others. Even some elements of our_ **job** _is good.” My Baldric studies my eyes. I don’t know if I have the assurance he seeks. “We don’t have to. The potion is here; I can make a stronger one if this doesn’t work. But we went through all that in the Architect’s lab for a reason. Right?” Another pause, then he leans in. His lips are cool and his breath is sweet. “I_ **love** _you. If you decide you’re ready to make a family, I’m here._ **I’m** _ready when_ **you** _are. What’s happened doesn’t have to mean the end. We’ll figure it out one way or the other.”_

_Andraste, is it any wonder my heart feels so torn?_

 

 

_This week of rest did not last long enough._

_Justice and me were the only ones who could carry all the ridiculous lyrium I confiscated down below the basement. It took longer than I wanted, and by the time we set it all in a niche in the caves, I’d lost three days of my week off. I spent half the next day in the bath with the maids refilling hot water every hour. Anders joined me sometime after my fingers and toes wrinkled, then after the best massage in my life, I dozed off. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke, Anders had a book in one hand, while the other heated the bath from outside the tub. I climbed out to feel every sore muscle at once, and after staggering to my room, I’m told I slept a whole day and a half._

_And… we tried again. Pain potions and soothing balms under Anders’ hands did more than wonders. I don’t know what will happen if I carry. I don’t think I will tell Alistair unless I_ **know** _I carry. Part of me even thinks we’re trying in vain. But we’re trying anyway. The more trials we survive together, the closer we grow, and the same for us with Oghren, Justice, Nathaniel, and Sigrun. Even the staff feel like part of our home. It feels like a good place to bring a child into the world… if I can carry to term._

_Anders thinks the lyrium in me may be the reason I’m having trouble growing a baby._

_I suppose I didn’t do myself any favors bringing all that lyrium to The Keep._

_Until the day my belly swells… I still have work to do. A break from Darkspawn is necessary, but that problem remains. Anders’ phylactery, if the Grand Cleric kept her word, should await us in Denerim. And Anora lies pregnant in my chambers in the palace._

_If Anders hadn’t reminded me, I’d have forgotten Anora entirely._

 

 

 

_Returning to Denerim is simpler, and more daunting, than last time. It’s only me and Anders now. The others will join us in a week, then we’ll ride the West Road to Orzammar; the long way around to avoid seeing too much of the Circle and Highever. The journey gives us time alone, and it feels amazing to relive the innocence of free travel that once brought us together. I can also use his real name without censorship._

_But the walls of Denerim mean possible trouble. Alistair won’t like that I traveled with Anders alone. Stepping foot in the palace means looking upon the woman carrying the grand-spawn of Loghain Mac Tir. Riding up to the Chantry could mean exposing my new magic to fight off Templars._

_Alistair is at the Chantry when we arrive. Waiting outside with the Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander Tavish like he spied us riding in and knew we’d stop here first. Along with him wait the usual crew: Zevran, Pádraig and four of…_ **my** _guard; if they can still be called such._

_Alistair isn’t the reason Anders tenses up this time. The closer we ride to the Chantry - the closer we ride to a man and woman who issue Rites of Tranquility for mages they deem troublesome - the more Anders’ hands shake. He can’t stop squirming, holding the reins so tight his gloves stretch thin, swallowing, grinding his teeth. When his horse blows and strays with Anders’ grip, I lean over and grab on._

_Anders searches me in a silent beg. I hear his voice in my head without needing to guess: Please don’t let them take me, Tess,_ **please don’t!** _For this man who feels too much from others, his own anxieties swell at my eyes. I squeeze his hand, but I don’t think I can assure him for the life of me right now._

_“Your Majesty,” Grand Cleric Elemena greets me with a slight bow. Tavish follows as my guardsmen and Pádraig snap to attention and salute._

_“Grand Cleric, Knight-Commander.” I greet. I sound more in control than I feel right now with Anders about to explode in panic beside me. My eyes fall to my husband._

_Alistair shoots an interested glance to Anders. “The others aren’t here?” he asks._

_“They’re taking a few more days to recover,” I tell him. Alistair nods; I can almost see him assuring himself me and Anders alone means nothing._

_He looks better than I last saw him. He’s slept, rested. Doesn’t have dark circles under his eyes for once. He’s also letting his beard grow again._

_For me. It’s why grew his beard out before. Because I like how it felt when he kissed me._

_I don’t realize I’m smiling until he smiles back. He misses me. I see it in his eyes._

_I miss him too. I miss our good days more than I can say._

_But the twitching mage next to me steals my attention again._

_I take a deep breath. “Please tell me you have what I asked for,” I look at the Grand Cleric._

_“You mean threatened,” Elemena corrects._

_“If your Templars weren’t overstepping bounds and stalking Grey Wardens, I wouldn’t_ **need** _to threaten,_ **would** _I?” I force myself not to blink._ **“Do** _you have his phylactery or_ **not?”**

_“I do.”_

_“Your Majesties, if we may proceed inside,” the Knight-Commander suggests. “The Chantry would like to keep this low-profile.”_

_Anders laughs, so nervous and suspicious he can’t focus his eyes. “You’ll have to drag my dead body in.”_

_“That’s won’t be necessary,” I tell both him and Tavish. “As long as you don’t make a scene out here, we won’t.”_

_Tavish sighs. “Then pardon me, Your Majesties, Grand Cleric. I shall return shortly.” He bows again before ducking through the double doors. And a thick, awkward silence settles over us, almost louder than the market noise behind us._

_“I trust Her Majesty had a pleasant journey,” Pádraig tries to break the silence, though it’s already so thick his tone almost slides right over it._

_“I did, thank you. I may be_ **hexing** _myself, but I can’t wait for first snow.” Noble banter is ridiculous. Useful at times, but I fucking hate it._

_Pádraig cocks his head. He’s quite good at masking his face when he needs to. “Her Majesty may get her wish soon. Feels like an early winter already.”_

_“We can only hope.” I glance at Anders; he’s not doing any better. Glance around the Chantry courtyard. “Do you remember that_ **well,** _Zev?” I ask. If this doesn’t break the tension, it will land me a public lashing. I don’t think the Grand Cleric knows about this, or knows I did it._

_Zevran turns, hands behind his back, and nods when he sees the well in the corner, almost hidden by late afternoon shadows now. “Ah, yes, the infamous drop-and-run gig.”_

_Alistair gives him a double take. “The what?”_

_“Oh, nothing big. You remember when we arrived here for the Landsmeet during the Blight?” I ask my husband. “When you sent me out those few days?”_

_“Yes…” Alistair looks from me to Zev, then back. We all remember that week. It was the week I chased Anora through Eamon’s manor and bruised her eye, bloodied her nose and lip, and threw my slipper at her. And then set a drape on fire._

_“I told you we did some small jobs around town?” I’m sure I did. If not, I’m about to be in_ **huge** _trouble._

 **“Yes…”** _Alistair’s getting suspicious._

 _“And one of the jobs was removing bodies from accidental murder sites?”_ **Please** _Maker, let him remember that!_

_“I suddenly regret asking you to clarify,” Alistair mutters._

_I gesture over. “We dumped a couple bodies in this well.”_

**“Your Majesty!!!”** _the Grand Cleric almost topples backwards in shock. She braces a support pillar with a hand on her chest and large eyes, breathing like I knocked the wind from her._

_A snort and quiet laughter from beside me says my naughty revelation did its job. I look over and find a grateful spark above a huge smile. Anders also doesn’t look surprised I’ve such a tale._

_Zevran hums in amusement. “Remember Morrigan, then?” His eyes twinkle at the thought._

_From the corner of my eye, I catch Pádraig whip his eyes to me. I was the only one he ever spoke to about Morrigan, and even then, it was rare I let her name brought up. “Yep. More concerned_ **Templars** _were so close than she was about getting caught_ **dumping bodies.”**

_The Knight-Commander emerges from heavy Chantry doors before anyone else can reminisce about awkward, illegal jobs of the past. And in an instant, Anders’ eyes lock on._

_“As Her Majesty the Warden-Commander ordered,” Tavish begins, “the phylactery of one Ba-”_

_I interrupt with a noise far too loud and annoying. “I’ll know soon enough whose this.” I feel more gratitude swell from Anders. As soon as I take the glass bottle, though, Tavish bows and turns to leave. The noise I make now reminds me of a goat. “Knight-Commander, Grand Cleric, we are not through yet.” I look at Alistair. “You said you know how to scry with phylacteries?”_

_“Yes.” My husband shifts his weight and glances to the Chantry elders, then back to me. “Every Templar recruit learns before they schedule vows. It’s a vital lesson; Maker forbid the chain of command fall and no one know how to track down the maleficarum responsible.”_

_“Right, because every_ **Templar** _failure_ **always** _boils down to a rogue mage,” Anders retorts._

_“I bring it up to remind the Grand Cleric and the Knight-Commander there are consequences for lying to the Queen,” my husband wears his King countenance. The polished crown upon on his head glimmering in the sun adds considerable weight to his words. “I don’t agree with all the Chantry’s practices. But it is their unwavering method that fails them today. If they’ve gone behind my wife’s back, we’ll know.”_

_“Right.” Anders doesn’t look at him. Still wary of Alistair, and now feeling reprimanded by his Court tongue._ **I** _understand Alistair phrased it like so to make Elemena and Tavish squirm, but like always, his manipulation technique affects more than his intended targets._

_Alistair turns to Pádraig. “Map?”_

_Pádraig perks up like he almost forgot. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He reaches into the ceremonial jacket over his armor._

_“Your Majesties, please consider taking this matter indoors,” Elemena pleads as Pádraig unfolds a map of Thedas on the ground. I reverse my steed Plum, guiding Anders’ horse with me._

_“Not until I know you don’t intend an ambush,” I defend my Warden. “Answer me this: if the phylactery was divided so the Chantry could keep a backup stash, even the size of a single drop, would scrying detect_ **all** _sources?”_

 _It is my husband who answers: “Yes.” He holds his hand out for the vial filled with deep red blood. Anders follows it from my hand with increasing worry. “It locates the exact blood. Meaning: if I scryed for_ **Bryce** _Cousland, I could not detect you or Fergus even though his blood_ **made** _you. If Anders’ blood is in more than one place, we’ll know.”_

_“Good.” I look at Anders; he’s anxious enough from lingering here. He doesn’t believe the Chantry is honest. “Knight-Commander,” I turn. “The honors, kindly.”_

_I’ve never seen phylacteries this close before; they’ve never concerned me before Anders. This close, what appears only a gem inside extends with a thin chain when Alistair twists a wheel under the lid._

_“What’s that for?” I already suspect, though. The Chantry must keep a scrying pendulum with each phylactery for quick, easy access. Maker forbid they lose a way to track a mage so adept at escape as Anders._

_“This is what we scry with.” Alistair dips the hanging gem into the blood and lets it drip for a moment. “Each phylactery comes with the mage’s birthstone, and_ **not** _just for sentiment,” he adds humor, but I hear the satire in his tone too clear. “Like all others, Anders’ birthstone_ **here** _was soaked in his phylactery all night in the moonlight of his birthday.” His eyes meet mine with a glint of disapproval. “One of the Chantry’s more superstitious practices. They believes it tunes the stone to the powers of the mage, allowing for a precise scry.”_

_This is the first time he’s ever revealed why he disliked devoting his life to the Chantry. It aligns with how he rules, only as King, Alistair can punish the hypocrites who bury their wrongdoings under those they’ve oppressed. I think it reminds him of the late Isolde._

_“The_ **Chantry** _is allowed to use blood magic, but the_ **Circle can’t?”** _I ask. An annoying yet convenient fact of politics: noble satire put everyone at fault._

 _“And to cover their tracks, they come after people like_ **me** _who just don’t want to be_ **kicked in the head** _every morning.” Frustration now joins the list of emotion wracking Anders._

_I reach over and squeeze a hand wringing Anders’ reins. “That’s why we’re here.” I’m still not sure I can assure him._

_“Phylacteries are not blood magic, Your Majesty,” Elemena insists._

_“But_ **scrying** _is a_ **form** _of magic. I know the Chantry investigates anyone_ **rumored** _to scry. Tuning it to_ **specific** _blood is just as bad as asking_ **spirits** _for help. Paranoid, extreme,_ **and** _inviting demons in. I can think of_ **better** _ways to spend Chantry resources. Especially when most of_ **yours** _come from my_ **personal vault.”** _I watch both Chantry elders roll their eyes. Alistair watches them with a twitch of his mouth._

_I’m reminded again of the man I married. Alistair used to love seeing me talk down to people of authority._

_And today, he’s here helping me free my paramour from Chantry chains. I already owe my husband for this._

_Shining movement catches my eye. I watch Knight-Commander Tavish crouch before the map and hang the gem. Slow swinging over Ferelden’s corner of the map._

_“Over_ **all** _Thedas, Knight-Commander,_ **thank** _you.” Alistair urges._

_Tavish rolls his eyes and begins a gradual roam over the entire map. River to river, city to city, winding as if laying a trail over every inch._

_One of the_ **most** _uninteresting moments of my life._

_Over the Anderfels; Pádraig snorts when it passes over Weisshaupt._

_… Odd little moments like this make me wonder if these men who lied to me actually respect me…_

_Over Orlais, over mountains, the Waking Sea, Gherlen’s Pass, down to the Korcari Wilds, Lake Calenhad._

_Anders almost looks relieved to know no part of him is at Kinloch Hold._

_No action through Highever, Amaranthine, not near Lothering where his parents’ crops once grew, nor from Ostagar to Gwaren. Nothing along either road. Upon nearing Denerim, the crystalline stone twitches, then jerks over and stops with the tip on the city. Anders’ nails dig in through our gloves and his breath steals away._

_“All sources of the phylactery are here in Denerim, Your Majesty,” Tavish reports._

_Alistair looks at Pádraig again. “Local map?” All eyes fall on them. Without a word, Pádraig pulls out and unfolds another map and replaces the other. One of our best maps of Denerim and her districts, with detailed roads, roofs, courtyards, gates, bridges, stairs, wood piles, and more. It’s a map never let out of the palace before._ **“Thank** _you.” Alistair takes the scrying gem from Tavish and kneels._

 _“Is there a way to verify this is_ **Anders’** _phylactery?” I ask._

_“That’s what I’m about to do.” Alistair dipped the gem in blood again, then scrys over the districts. Almost pinpoint to where we cluster in relation to the map, the gem jerks and stops again._

_Anders gasps my name._

_Alistair meets my eyes before looking at Anders. I can almost see thoughts whirring in his mind. “Go… walk to the tavern and count to thirty, then...” my husband glances around. “Then Wonders of Thedas and do the same, then Master Wade’s smithy… then the Atrium gate, then come back. Count at least to thirty each stop.” He glanced again. “Pádraig, boys, go with him.”_

_The four of the elite guard sound off and Pádraig gestures. Anders hesitates in apprehension, searching me. He fears this means he’ll be apprehended._

_“No harm meant,” Alistair insists, studying - and from the looks of it, sympathizing with the man he’d rather kill. “This is just to verify we’re scrying for_ **you,** _not the phylactery.” I know he’s doing this for me, not Anders._

_I owe him beyond incredible for this._

_I watch my husband scry, now. I watch the gem land by the Gnawed Noble marker, then Wonders of Thedas. Along the path Alistair instructed, each time also dropping to where we stand at the Chantry. We watch them pass by. Anders looks like he’s trying to convince himself I’m not betraying him._

_Maker, that look cuts too deep._

_When the gem touches down a last time, I stare back at my husband. I’m now convinced it’s Anders’. I don’t know if it’s obvious I, too, doubted the Chantry would follow through._

_Alistair caps the phylactery and folds the map, standing as our men return with Anders._

_Anders takes one look at us both and grimaces with a forced smile. “I should have just met you in Orzammar,” he mutters when he stops his steed alongside mine._

_Do we look that bad right now? Maker. I didn’t know relief could look like doom._

_Alistair holds out the tiny glass jar to Anders. “Congratulations.”_

_Anders looks at me, stunned beyond breath. His eyes fly over me for a moment, then the Chantry elders and Alistair before he takes his blood. “You’re_ **serious?** _It’s_ **really mine?”**

_“It stopped everywhere you stopped,” I tell him._

_A deep, hard breath shakes his chest as he stares. I already know he’s trying to absorb the sudden_ **fact** _of freedom._

_The Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander beg pardons to return to their duties. I stop them with a silent gesture. Anders’ has waited to destroy this in front of Chantry authority, to rub in their faces they can’t keep arresting him for desiring freedom. He deserves this moment, at least._

_Alistair nods at me and says he’ll see me back at the palace. Anders grips the lid and pulls. Knight-Commander Tavish narrows his eyes like he regrets not hiding some in his pocket for later. Anders holds out the bottle and begins tipping. But a better idea rushes to my mind._

**“Wait!”** _I lunge over and snatch the vial before he can spill it._

_“Tess!” His entire face accuses me._

_“Just--” I hold an arm out to keep him away, clutching his phylactery to my chest. “What’s in here?” I ask Tavish and Elemena._

_When they hesitate, Alistair answers from behind me. “Blood?” like he’s reminding me. “Unrefined lyrium, and a concoction to keep it from curdling and turning sour.”_

_“Is it lethal?” My head turns but I keep my eyes on the phylactery._

**“Tess,”** _Anders begs me in a whisper._

 _I know, I know. He’s waited_ **too long** _to destroy this thing._

 **“Not** _lethal…” Alistair answers like he regrets it._

 _“Tess,_ **please,”** _Anders pleads again._ **“Let** _me_ **smash** _it.”_

_I meet his eyes. “No.”_

_Before I can change my mind and give him the satisfaction he craves, I bring the vial to my mouth and swallow._

 

 

**_FREE._ **

_Complete_ and _utter freedom._

For a moment, he thought she back-stabbed him and decided to hold freedom out of reach. But Anders stared at the empty vial and trace of blood at her lips.

Maker, she _did_ it. _She made sure they could_ **_never_ ** _trace him again._

**_ANDERS WAS FREE._ **

 

 

 

 

 

_“How long have you been unhappy in your marriage?”_

_I look up from the letters; a stack of correspondence Alistair prior hid but now let me read. Anora reclines on my bed - a bed I only used when killing the Archdemon made me comatose. She smooths the quilts over her legs and doesn’t return my stare._

_“What you makes you think that?” I don’t recall speaking to her about my marriage difficulties. The last time I spoke to Loghain’s daughter was when I sentenced her to my bed, and it was of her father._

_Anora laughs in spite. “I was the_ **Queen** _of Dissatisfactory Marriage, remember?” She pauses to look away in discomfort. “Pun unintended. Your Majesty.”_

_“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Anora. And it’s Commander.”_

_Anora’s eyes fly over. I can’t read her expression. “You’re not_ **Queen** _anymore?”_

 _“No, I am.” I take a moment to think. I don’t know if she’s being civil from the heart, or if she’s looking for a weapon to use against us in secret. “Alistair handles matters of court better. He enjoys it, I should say. I’m more suited to Grey Warden life.” Looking upon my personal history, I may have_ **always** _been suited for it._

 _Her eyebrows stretch like she’s trying to look indifferent. “You always_ **did** _excel at the unconventional.” After a long, quiet pause, Anora puts down the stitching. “Tesslyn, you have_ **everything** _you’ve_ **ever wanted.** _You had_ **Cailan my** _entire marriage,_ _but_ **he** _wasn’t enough for you. You have the_ **other** _heir, but_ **he’s also** _not enough for you. You have a_ **mage,** _and_ **being Queen** _isn’t enough for you._ **How** _are you not satisfied with_ **any** _of it?”_

 _I can only stare at her for a moment. A question I suspect she’s wanted to ask me since she married Cailan. I have never witnessed such a heartfelt confession from this woman in my life. Not that she meant to confess, I'm sure. “You’re confusing me with_ **you,** _Anora.” She stares as if I speak a foreign tongue._ **“I never** _wanted to be Queen. That was my_ **father’s** _wish, and_ **Cailan’s** _wish. Maric’s, too, as I recall, for Cailan's sake._ **Teagan** _only wanted me Queen because of_ **Cailan.** **I** _have_ **never** _wanted this life.”_

 _She laughs in disbelief._ **“Every** _woman in Ferelden wants to be Queen with a loving, doting royal husband.”_

 _I shake my head. “I want_ **love** _and_ **respect,** _and_ **friends.** _I want_ **honesty,** _and_ **equality,** _and the chance to wake up how_ **I** _want each day. I’d rather plow my own crops than slave away to an_ **entire country** _in this_ **cage.** _I’ve_ **never** _wanted this life.”_

 **“Slave away?** _Have you not seen all the_ **servants** _here?”_

 _“Have_ **you** _not seen all the_ **faces of Ferelden?”** _I ask back._ **“Every eye** _is on me, from the time I was born. Everyone expected me to marry Cailan, they all watched me grow up. Most this country grew up_ **preparing** _to ask_ **me** _to_ **care** _for them. That’s been_ **weight on my shoulders** _from_ **before** _I could_ **walk.** _It’s_ **servitude,** _nothing more. A_ **cage,** _Anora. A gilded cage. You never grew up knowing what that felt like. You married Cailan because you wanted power and the job was open, but you’ve never known it's weight. You don't know what it’s like knowing your birth was nothing more than_ **duty** _to a country. With Cailan only two years my senior, this cage was fitted for_ **me.** _The only reason you escaped it was because I gave your father the key.” I stare back at this woman who ran Ferelden like a precise Merchant’s square with the tongue of an Orlesian noble. In all irony, Anora would have done well in Orlais. “Your father stood between you and this cage the whole time.” Now the irony of whiplash finds me. “But here I am anyway. His death -” my eyes fall with realization that voices as a sigh. “- and the liberation of this country - was only ever possible by_ **me stepping** _in it. By_ **me** _taking back my…_ **rightful burden.”** _Anora’s staring still when I look up. No matter my reason for marrying Alistair either time, the country’s prosperity depended on me the whole time. I had just as little choice as Cailan did. If I hadn’t fought it..._

_Fucking Void, I understand it at last. It’s a shit-caked burden. One I could have shouldered in my youth to prevent Uncle Rendon from turning on the entire country. From turning on my parents. I could have married Cailan when Maric was declared dead and prevented every hardship. Instead I chose to fight it, and the entire country suffered. It’s like Sten once said: Once can accept their destiny and excel, or they can fight it, but they - and others who depend on them - will suffer for it._

_Maybe even the_ **Blight** _had to happen to put me back on my destined path. It led me right to Alistair, who’s been a better king than even Maric; quicker than I would have found him on my own. I fought the cage welded for me, and I - and the country dependent on me - suffered for it. And all my fighting was in vain. I ended up in my royal cage anyway._

_Now with more restrictions than I likely would have had if I’d accepted my duty and married Cailan to begin with._

_Duty. That’s all my life is. It’s all I’ve ever been destined for._

_I fucking_ **hate** _Sten and his Qun right now._

 _…_ **I** _chose it… didn’t I? Everything I’ve suffered as Alistair’s wife… I chose it, as I chose to suffer what Loghain put me through._ **Did** _I choose it? By fighting it in the first place, did I do nothing but reinforce this cage I was born for? Fought Cailan only to marry Alistair, who added his own reinforcements? Choosing to fight my destiny, my_ **duty** _replaced elements of comfort with eggshells and weighed my cage down -- with an Archdemon? And given me_ **more** _duties to juggle._

_A Cousland always does her duty._

_That’s what I grew up hearing. Maybe I should have taken my father’s advice to heart._

_Maybe this cage isn’t all Alistair’s fault… or his fault at_ **all…?**

_Maybe… this changes things. Maybe Alistair hasn’t been as controlling as it all felt from this side of the cage. Maybe I struck a deal with the Maker before I even left my mother’s womb?_

_Maker, this…_

_I can’t be in here with Anora anymore. She has no idea what my choices allowed her in my stead. A huge one grows in her belly right now._

_The chair moves when I stand. I don’t mean to meet her eyes. “You’re welcome.”_

_I rush from my chambers before either of us can speak again. There are some wounds time is not strong enough to heal. Self-inflicted ones are the worst._

 


	40. Together Still

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [The Gravity of Love, by Really Slow Motion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrY9a7lQZVQ)  
> [Spirits on Earth, by Really Slow Motion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LRFD_Car99c)  
> [The Promise, by Really Slow Motion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUGdJ9lhyAE)
> 
>     
> 
>  
> 
>      

“Where’s a painter when I need one?”

Teagan chuckled at Alistair’s voice. He unfolded a leg and propped the other up instead.

“Stop moving,” Tesslyn said.

“Of course. My apologies, my dear.” Teagan held his book higher up. They’d been in there some time, Tesslyn and Teagan. When Cailan was King, Teagan often relaxed in the study with him. Tonight, he wasn’t alone long before Tesslyn joined him, and like decades ago, she began braiding his hair to keep it out of his eyes. Small Orlesian braids on either side of his head. She’d only finished the other side a moment ago. “I’d like one as well, if you don’t mind, Alistair?” Teagan requested as Alistair filled a glass at the writing desk.

“Tess said no moving. That might make it impossible to drink,” Alistair jested.

“Then find me a straw.” Teagan couldn’t help a smile. Grown men sipping liquor from a straw like noble wives.

“Right. Nothing more manly than that.” Alistair held out a glass, and Teagan moved his eyes up.

“We may have missed that lesson, Alistair, but that _is_ manly.” Teagan brought his glass to his lip and sipped, then hummed appreciation. “Thank you. A perfect nightcap tonight.”

“How often do your nightcaps coincide with braids?” Alistair smirked as he sat in a plush chair near the fire.

“Oh, this tradition goes back over twenty years.” He sipped again. “Though Tesslyn’s braids are in better shape than when she was four.”

Alistair smiled at his wife, though she remained focused on Teagan’s hair. “You let a four-year-old braid your hair?”

Teagan laughed. “You make it sound as if I had a choice. _Never_ underestimate the determination of a four-year-old.”

A moment of silence while Tess braided and the men sipped. Not the awkward aura any expected after the drama of late. Drink made faint noise that sounded like harmony to the fire's crackle. Quiet, easy. Comfortable.

“Anora tells me you two had a good evening?” Alistair asked.

Tess glanced over after a pause. “Who, me?” Alistair nodded at her. “I suppose,” she shrugged.

“Did you really?” Teagan peeked without moving his head.

Tess shrugged again. “We didn’t try to _kill_ each other. Though I reckon that _does_ mean it was a good evening.” Alistair smiled at his wife. “Better than I expected, at least,” she said. “Anders says babies can hear voices outside the womb, so I… read to it…”

“And you both enjoyed it?” Teagan echoed. “That’s good news. Perhaps a lifetime late, but better than never. What did you read?”

Tess braced Teagan’s chin and straightened his head. “The story of Aveline. Well, a few pages. I may finish it another day.”

“What exactly does reading accomplish for a baby not yet born?” Alistair asked.

“Anders says it helps form bonds. He encouraged pregnant magi in the Circle to do it.” She hesitated. “If they _can_ hear out, then… I want my voice to be familiar, and not from arguments.”

“I think it’s a fine idea,” Teagan praised. “It may do the both of you good to sit with her every day.”

“I’m not so sure, Teagan.” She shook her head. Alistair watched her finger weave around graying auburn hair. “She thinks I’m only Queen to rub it in in her face.”

Alistair hummed, turning his glass, elbows on his knees. “She got the wrong monarch. Did you point her my way?”

Teagan smirked. “Don’t dwell on her words, dear girl. Speech has been Anora’s only defense her entire life, you know that.”

“She knows the craft better than any bard,” Tess remarked.

“As do you, when you put your mind to it,” Teagan encouraged her. He waited till Tess tied his braids together at the back of his head, then finished his drink and sighed. “All right, children. It’s time for this old man to turn in.” Short and sweet, good tidings for the night. Then Uncle Teagan strolled from the room, leaving Alistair and Tess alone.

It was quiet. For many moments, the crackling fire made the only sound. Alistair fed it another log. Tess poured herself a drink then hugged her knees on one end of the couch. She didn’t look at him.

Alistair watched her. He remembered when they discovered this room: the day the Landsmeet declared him King. Fergus Cousland revealed keeping Tess safe through the years was a group effort before Cailan died. Alistair consummated his ascension to King by having Tess in this very room, this very couch. He remembered crouching behind her at the open window, holding his shaft, guiding himself to her core. He remembered her moan when he pushed all the way in. As much to relieve stress as it was for fun.

They hadn’t made love for fun in ages.

They’d had scars then, also. Countless scars. Now she had none, and Alistair only had two. A faint one on his thigh, and the scar over his heart.

It still ached him, his heart. Not all the time, but when he asked about it, the palace medic said it might be sore for awhile. Most people didn’t survive punctured hearts, after all. Alistair also noticed times it didn’t hurt. He became aware of it not hurting while in the middle of things, and upon giving it attention it began to ache again. Which suggested it _only_ hurt when he thought of it.

It was hard not to think of it, though. As much as Alistair didn’t want to admit it, Tess was right: if he’d never returned, he’d not have been shot.

At the same time, if he’d not almost died… he’d not have a last chance to fix his marriage.

A chance that came with a positive end in sight, for once.

“Does it hurt?”

Alistair returned to the moment and found his wife’s gaze. He didn’t notice he rubbed the scar on his chest till her eyes dropped. He shook his head. “No. Only when I think of it. I know that sounds stupid.” Alistair tipped his glass to finish his drink. “I think about it, though.”  

Her brow pinched together. She worried. “I can call Anders in. I can try to heal you again.” A bold suggestion. Anders had found a way to avoid Alistair in his own palace since he’d returned with Tess. The mage no longer wanted a thing to do with Alistair when it wasn’t a matter of life or death.

Alistair shook his head. “I’m fine, Tess, really.” He paused, more memories playing in his mind. Seeing his reflection his reflection after the Deep Roads during the Blight. Seeing all her scars every time they made love. Then wondering if it was even Tess when he found her in the Wending Wood scar-less.

There was no more proof they’d survived the Blight together. How easy they could they fool themselves, now? There was no evidence they’d almost died for each other, risked _everything_ for each other. It was all gone.

Except a measly two scars. And the one over his heart summed up what he’d been trying to make her understand.

 _Ironic, isn’t it?_ he asked himself.  

“What is?”

Alistair’s eyes were slow to blink, slow to come out of oblivion. He hadn’t realized his thoughts took voice.

“What’s ironic?” she repeated.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He stared for a moment. “You healed the rest of my scars… but now I have one that proves you saved me.”

“What’s ironic about that?” She searched him. Tiny flames in her eyes reflected the crackling fire. Alistair always loved how firelight danced on her face.

“It’s how it’s always felt for me. It felt like you saved me. From my old life, from… being unwanted and shoved around everywhere. From… ” Alistair shrugged with heavy breath. He meant _Being Himself._ No one used to like the innocent boy who met Tess... but thinking it was easier than confessing out loud. Even after all they'd been through, he still struggled admitting he was nothing before he met her. Alistair found his wife's eyes with a small smile. “Now I have proof.”

Her head hung to hide a fallen face. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, Tess?”

“I’m not a very good wife. Even when we agreed to work through things, and… then after I healed you…” she wet her lips with a deep breath. Alistair didn’t want to know the details. “I’m not a good wife. Am I?”

Alistair studied her. “Well… turns out _I’m_ not that good of a husband.” Her head rose and their eyes locked. “Maybe we’re finally on equal ground now. We have a place to start over from, now. Without either of us a step ahead or below the other.”

Husband and wife stared gazed at each other in the dim lit room. She searched him like she’d been waiting to hear that for years. For the first time since he found her in the Wood, hope resonated. Not wishful thinking, but actual hope. For _both_ of them. An unspoken promise of something better. Tomorrow would be better than today, and the day after even more so.

It felt like a chance to be _friends_ again, not _only_ married.

And a pregnant pause reminded him they a lot to work through. Nothing between them ever resolved so easy. He wasn’t sure he could risk pushing his luck again by asking more so soon. They came to a good place tonight. It felt smart to stop where they both felt good.

Alistair stood. “I’m going to turn in, too. Eamon’s leaving at sunrise to visit Connor. I promised I’d be up.”

“Isn’t he still ill?” she asked.

Alistair shrugged, setting his glass on a rolling tray for a maid to collect later. “He insists he’s up for it. I told him we could always petition to let Connor visit here.”

“Is Eamon _young_ enough to get up at sunrise still?”

“Personally?” Alistair’s smile stretched farther one side than the other. He shook his head. “But I guess I’ll find out.” He paused.

He missed this. He missed smiling with his wife. Missed sitting with her at night, missed the small talk. Joking and drinking together without a care in the world to interrupt them.

“Will you be up for a bit? Or can I walk to your-” he cut himself off, remembering Anora was in Tess’ room. “Wherever you’re sleeping tonight?” he finished. “I almost forgot about Anora. Again.”

Tess’ eyes strayed in thought. Then she huffed with large eyes. “Me too. _Again.”_ She hesitated, then met his eyes. “Is it all right if I sleep in your room with you?”

 _His_ room. Did she think he didn’t want her in there anymore?

“It’s still your room, too, Tess.” Alistair held out his hand.

He couldn’t help but smile when she laid her hand on his. Equal ground, at last.

Maybe they _could_ heal together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	41. Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all things unbreakable last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
> Mood Music:  
> The Light, by Disturbed

**_Tess:_ **

_I tried. I did. I tried to sleep next to my husband again in the bed we used to share._

_And for awhile it was nice. We made ourselves comfortable on the bed and he read, like he used to. I sat against him with my ear at his chest with his arm around me, like we used to sit. It was quiet, sweet. Familiar. Nothing romantic, only sweet._

_But I couldn’t sleep. He dozed off reading, and I laid there watching. He slept like I’d never been out of the bed, but I couldn’t get comfortable. It doesn’t feel like my bed anymore. Doesn’t feel like I_ **have** _a bed here anymore. I tried, I_ **did.** _But it was for naught. I heard the water clock down at the docks chime eight times before I gave up. I crept out of bed, scribbled an apology and left it where my head should have been asleep… and I left. I found Anders, still awake himself, and in the dark we walked to my family’s manor. And there I fell asleep with no struggle._

_I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to stay Alistair’s wife - the wife of a man who hurts me trying to love me - and love him again. I don’t love him like I love Anders, or even like I used to. I love him for what we survived, not… for how he makes me feel now when I look at him._

_I don’t know how to be married without love. Without love from_ **my** _end. If I’d married Cailan, I think it would have felt like this. Because of that dream, I love Cailan now, but… this is how it would have been. Married to the King because that’s what the daughter of Teyrn Cousland was meant for. As much as it scared me when Alistair got shot, as much as I don’t want to never see him again… being his wife feels like duty. This is my chore, now. Obligation._

_I fucking hate this. I wish my cousin was here. I miss Nathaniel, how his presence reassures and lifts weight. I miss feeling at home._

_I can’t wait to leave this place._

 

_Come daybreak, duty moves my feet back to the palace. I wait while Alistair sees Eamon off with a handful of palace guards and a caravan packed for a comfortable journey._

_Then Alistair faces me and smiles, small and polite; empty, like he found his bed when he awoke. I pull him in his study for this, and it takes more breath than it feels like I own to push my voice._

_I need time. Too much has happened too soon. I can’t just come back and do what we used to. It doesn’t feel the same. I think I need time_ **and** _a holiday, to ease back into being Wife again. I just can’t do it now, not yet. I don’t know how I’ll do it or how long it will take, but I need this gradual so being Alistair’s wife doesn’t feel like a job. I just need time._

_Alistair seems a step ahead of me; as with everything at the palace. He says he figured as much. “It felt… different, last night,” he says. Not how it used to feel. Felt more like two companions killing time before sleep._

_He voices a thought nursing in my mind for months: We bonded during the Blight, though unlike our party who split after, we remained together. Traumatic feats cut us all deep, and the others moved on because the bond required no longer served us. Not that we don’t love each other… but maybe it’s easier - and best - to move on from people we endured waking nightmares with. Leave the struggles and reminders behind. Start fresh and find our real selves again._

_Alistair and I never did that._

_Not that he’s suggesting divorce. But he understands now._

_I’m glad he’s the one who said it._

_He misses it all, regardless. Misses reading together, misses waking up next to me. Misses making love before sleep and waking me up with it. But last night felt strange. Our bed wasn’t a place for romance. He agrees time may be a good thing. He’ll rearrange our sleeping quarters while I’m gone to Orzammar, try to find a new look to match the new… whatever feelings between us. He smiles and says he’ll order away for things I like, this time. Time is good, he says; we both have things to think about._ **Gradual** _is good._

_Alistair and I have never had Gradual._

_Gradual feels long overdue._

_I hope this doesn’t push us further apart._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	42. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few minutes with her pregnant ex-rival makes Tess remember why Alistair wanted Fade children to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Snow, by Machineheart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUXfgdMvMZ0)

****_The arrival of the rest of my Wardens was a breath of relief. It felt like work finished and I could now relax. I was so glad to see them I even hugged Justice._

_We’re in my family’s manor for a day or so. While I’ll run back and forth to the palace, the others will relax with hot baths and plush furniture until supplies used the trip here replenish._

_It’s strange. Denerim used to be the city everyone came to for holiday. It was a retreat, an exciting place to visit with souvenirs not available in the rest of the country. But even as we try to relax… Denerim feels like business now. It’s a place of work. A place to coordinate with the head of the country so we may complete our mission. Anders checks on Anora to help me, when he needn’t do so. Even sitting with Alistair for lunch feels like business; no matter how casual makes no difference._

_I don’t know how to tell my husband he feels like nothing more than a job now._

_It's the last thing I wanted for us, but I can't change it. The harder I try to feel like his wife again, the less I do. And if I tell him, it may break what remains of our bond. It will break the last of_ **him.**

_I almost wish my parents hadn’t broken the cycle and married for love. They told me to marry for love, while at the same time insisting I learn marriage is but a business. I learned nothing of the struggles when one becomes the other then the other interferes._

_We leave tomorrow. Teagan will ride with us, and we are in no rush. My Wardens need a break from darkspawn, so we’ll take our return to Orzammar slow. And doing so leaves me time to check on Anora once more._

_…I don’t quite know what’s become of me and Anora, either. We used to be at each other’s necks. Our fights during the Blight were the most mild of our lives, yet now it seems even that has vanished. Perhaps because Cailan isn’t around and she knows she has no chance of marrying the other heir now. Whatever the reason, I’m not used to it. It doesn’t feel like Anora I sit with. She’s not the wretch I rivaled in my youth. The more I sit with her, the more I look forward to it again._

_It seems the Blight changed_ **everyone.**

_I brought a book to read, but I’m slow to it tonight. I’m not the only one who has noticed the different aire about us. Most awkward, perhaps, is trying to find small talk without needing to hide contempt to satisfy public etiquette. A surprising feat not to desire upstaging ourselves to the other._

_Anora rubs her belly oft of late, tonight moreso. She took tea for her nightcap, a concoction to induce sleep in hopes of settling the active babe in her swollen belly, but it’s done nothing yet. Anora wishes to get comfortable before I sit on the bed and read, but as of now, neither of us predict when that will happen._

_“If you’re away longer than a month, this anxious child may be born before your return.” Anora stiffens again with wide eyes and exhales aloud._

_It’s also strange to watch her so close to labor, and captivating. Pregnancy and babies are a fairy tale for me. I never saw my brother’s wife during gestation. My nephew was two months old by the time I returned home for his birth. Oriana’s belly and discomfort had diminished and all I heard were the pregnancy stories she and my mother shared. All the expecting maids I saw in Orlais were still so when I last saw them. I’ve never seen this side of having babies before._

_“Have you picked out names?” I ask. Her eyes raise to mine over another hard exhale. “Can you tell what you’re having?” Oriana once told me she “felt” that Oren was a boy early in her pregnancy, while other women have said they couldn’t tell. If I ever manage to carry, I think I’d like to know._

_Anora sighs in relief and relaxes into the pillows piled behind her. She shakes her head. “Not a clue. Both medics say there’s no way to know. But one of the elderly maids in Vaughan’s home says she--” She breaks off a sudden with large eyes and lost breath, and braces her bulging belly. Her reaction strikes familiarity in me; why? I’ve certainly never carried this far, I couldn’t know about this. Is there a maid of Celene's I’m forgetting?_ **“Heavens!** _It has to kick me_ **there?”** _she breathes. Another bulge of her eyes, then she glances at me. “I won’t miss it kicking, that’s for sure!” Anora gives a winded chuckle. “It just doesn’t seem to stop. You’d think such a small thing would tire after a while.” Her faces distorts with another gape ,and she swats herself. “Ow! That_ **hurt,** _you!” she scolds her belly._

 _“It’s still kicking?” I ask, and she nods. “May I feel it?” Anora’s eyes fly to mine. An odd question, especially considering our history. But I don’t know what a kicking baby in the womb feels like; I may never. I_ **want** _to know._

_Anora shrugs and nods, catching her breath. As surprised by my question as she is by how hard her child kicks. I cross the room and crawl onto the bed, then hesitate. My hand hovers over the obvious bump beneath the blankets; I admit one of the stranger things I’ve asked to do._

_Nothing. I feel nothing. I must have a look on my face, though, for Anora takes my hand. “Here,” and pushes the covers to her lap. She moves my hand and places it on the side I can’t see. And an undeniable foot against my hand blows paralyzes me._

_I_ **feel** _it. And again! Maker, there’s a… there’s something in there. A… baby. A real baby._

 _I’ve never felt one so young before. But there’s one in here, in Anora’s belly. A real, living,_ **moving** _baby. Turning my head brings attention to how wide my eyes and jaw hang. Words almost fail me as I search her eyes. Does she realize what this means?_

 _“You’re a_ **mamae,”** _it comes out a stammer._

_Anora chuckles. “Yes.” She breathes through another hard jab to my hand. “Almost not real, is it?” She says its sometimes strange to consider a person is growing inside her, but at the same time, wondrous. As tiny toes press against my hand - where do I know this from?? - Anora says she never before knew just how powerful being a woman was. She wonders if men feel envious for not having the power to grow people like this. A teeny foot kicks my palm again._

_And I remember how I know this._

_The Fade. That dream I had during the Blight when the Sloth demon sent us to the Fade at the Circle tower. I had two daughters, memories of carrying them… and I was pregnant. Like this. I remember doing this, holding my blown belly. I remember the kicking, I remember tiny feet from inside me making dents near my navel. I remember being kicked so hard it stole my breath._

**I remember my children.**

_The children Alistair fell prey to for falling into the dream with me. The children Alistair considers real-but-not-yet-made. Children he still dreams of._

_Children I told him I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore._

_Children I now a sudden hear and feel and smell all over again. Tiny voices admiring my happy smile, or scolding Alistair for kissing me in front of them. Tiny voices growing large with laughter that rings through the house. Without a doubt children who were made by Alistair and me._

_Children I miss again._

_I hear Anora’s voice, but I can’t understand her. Her words are drowned out by a flood of images and memories. Memories that were never real, but felt real._ **Feel** _real._

_Right now they feel so real again…_

_My attention snaps back to a familiar buzz in my veins as someone raps at the door. The door opens with a creak and Anders’ sandy mane comes into view. He looks surprised to see me in here like this. Studies my face and my awkward position; I must look like a child with magic for the first time._

_“How_ **is** _everything in here?” Anders asks. He bites back a smile of amusement. I only now realize how silly I must look scrunched over the bed like this._

_“Are men jealous they aren’t powerful enough to grow people?” I did NOT mean to say that._

_Anders chuckles with my favorite grin. “Is_ **that** _what you’re doing in here? A women's empowerment meeting?” He closes the door behind him._

_“If you tell anyone, we’ll have to kill you,” Anora jokes. She huffs through another kick with huge eyes. “As soon as I can breathe again.”_

_Is that what it means to grow a baby? To be a mother? Empowerment?_

_I watch Anders come near and sit at the edge of the bed. His whole face smiles at me when his hands join mine on Anora’s belly, his eyes sparkle. Happy for me for having a good time. This man reads me so well every day._

_Can he tell I remember being a mother to children who never existed?_

 

 

 

Alistair stood without words at the person at his door. _Their_ door. Tess _knocked,_ instead of walking right in. Like she needed permission to come in.

This was her room also. Why was she knocking?

Alistair opened his mouth, but the fallen face of Tess stopped him as she raised her head. The rims of her eyes glistened red with tiny tears that stuck her lashes together.

Tess had been crying.

“Where are the pictures?” she asked before he could speak.

“What pictures?” Alistair stepped back so she could come in.

She hesitated. Emeralds darted and her thumbs twiddled at her waist. Crossing the room between him and the fire cast the door in shadow. “The ones you set up in my solar.” She hesitated to meet his eyes.

Alistair shut the door, unsure how to answer. They didn’t talk about those pictures. Every time he tried, Tess thought he meant he loved Dream Tess more than her. They fought _every time._ He wasn’t even sure how she knew he put them up in her solar; he took them down when she returned before they ventured to Kal’Hirol.

“The- our girls,” she whispered. “Our _children.”_

Alistair froze. She’d not referred to them as _their_ children for years.

Breath came like a gasp and Tess met his eyes as if on a dare. She looked like she feared he’d reprimand her for hypocrisy. She’d not wanted to hear about them again; she didn’t _want_ them anymore.

“They’re in the bloodlock.” He gestured to the secret cabinet in the wall that opened only to his blood. He wasn’t sure what to say. No discussion about their Fade life ever ended well, and Alistair was tired of fighting. “You said you weren’t sure you wanted them anymore, so I… hid them. Where I’m less likely tempted to look at them each day.” It wasn’t an easy admission. Their children were a dream he had to put on hold to ensure his wife was safe.

A dream he put on hold forever when he learned Tess chose another man.

“May I see them?”

Alistair stared. She hadn’t asked this since the Blight, when they were stuck in Ortan thaig waiting for Zevran’s legs to heal. She’d only had the first dream, and recent events disclosed it was never her desire to begin with. She _loathed_ the demon’s lure.

Her brows cinched closer. _“Please?”_ she might have begged.

Unsure what else to do, Alistair nodded. He went to the bloodlock, pricked his finger and opened the cabinet… then hesitated. _Was this right?_ He didn’t want this to end in another fight. Alistair wet his lips and breathed deep, then grabbed the stack of sketches and turned around. He meant to meet her eyes…

But she was already staring. Bottom lip trembling, Tess locked on the drawing atop the stack. _Eleonora and Carlyn._ The first depiction Alistair ever made of their daughters; the shimmering shield enveloping each one was also proof Morrigan still lived. Feet half the size of Alistair’s carried his wife to the bed without looking. Gasps every few seconds as her eyes moved said memory distracted her from breath.

“Tess?”

She fought to straighten her face. The dream tested her as she moved on to the next image, hand shaking with her breath. With each new gasp came a thicker shine on her eyes and a stronger pout. _Genuine sorrow._ The image of their entire Fade family broke tears. Alistair sat next to his wife, struggling to hold back his own sudden emotion. _He thought she didn’t want them anymore._ She’d never mourned that life aside from the shock of waking up from the Fade, but here she sat. Tess looked at the sketches like someone recalling a deceased loved one. _Mourning._ Tears Alistair had only ever cried alone.

Zevran once told him dreams were as legitimate as real memories because the mind didn’t seem to know the difference. It had been Alistair’s only validation over the years as he peeked at his children in secret. He’d always known he used that excuse to allow himself to continue wanting that family with Tess. But here was Tess, hurting for their pretend children as if they’d existed and died… like Alistair always did.

Now it felt like Zevran had _really_ been right. And Tess had shut herself off from mourning _all this time._ Seeing his wife _mourn at last_ was overwhelming; it wasn’t _only him_ now. Alistair couldn’t keep his eyes clear.

Delicate fingers grazed over faces of ink. Another pout spilled more tears, and Tess changed the page again. Then froze.

_The sketch of Tess swollen with child._

Alistair froze with her, wary of what she might do. This was the picture she thought he always compared her to. _Dream Tess_ could grow babies, but in real life she was unable. She hated seeing reminders she’d been broken. And she’d _never_ stared this long at this sketch. Alistair held his breath for a dreaded reaction he felt might erupt any moment.

A hand went to her belly instead.

Alistair meant to say her name and wrap her in his arms. A flood of tears broke through first.

Tess turned the page again. _Griffon,_ their youngest and only son; a chubby babe in the sketch. In the Fade at Kinloch Hold, Tess had been pregnant with the boy. Now, still otherwise frozen with tears dotting her lashes, her eyes busied. The hand on her belly began a slow rub.

_The first time she wasn’t angry at these pictures. At the family Alistair still wanted with her._

“I felt it kick,” her voice came broken and strained. “Anora’s babe. It’s been kicking all night and she let me touch her belly. I _felt_ it move around and kick,” she whispered, eyes glossing all over again as she stroked baby Griff’s portrait. “Just like our dream.” _Our._ Alistair wiped the rain from his face. “I _remember.”_ Tess’ face pinched again. Her eyes took in every line in the picture. _“I remember him kicking me._ I remem- I remember _losing breath_ when he kicked. I remember holding my belling and _feeling_ him. Just like I did tonight with An- _Anora’s_ ba-baby.”

Alistair couldn’t speak. This was so unexpected. What he used to think would be relief was nothing but a mess of two hearts hurting. Children they’d never actually had, who may never exist out in the real world. He sat closer and put an arm around his wife, but it was all he _could_ do. His wife was _finally mourning with him._ They missed babies they could not hold. It was too much at once.

 _He was supposed to be strong for both of them._ Mourning together made that impossible right now. He was a husband unable to console his wife. Right now, they were nothing but parents who’d lost their children and never got to say good-bye.

Tess’ face scrunched more as she turned in. His arms clasped the instant she buried her face, and a sob rattled through his shoulder so fast it pushed his own tears again.

“I forgot!” she wailed into him. “So- so much has hap-happened and I-- _I forgot ev-everything!”_ her voice broke again. Between heart-torn cries and her face in his neck, she managed to say she forgot everything about the dream until tonight. As soon as she felt Anora’s baby kick, it all came back. “Like it was lock-locked away so I couldn’t thi-think of it, and -- _until now.”_ She clung with nails like she feared him falling away like memory of the dream had.

Every time Alistair opened his mouth to say _I’m here, Tess_ or _It will be okay,_ he only cried with her more. _Maker, how many times had they cried together?_ He couldn’t find words for the life of him.

“I _miss_ them,” she choked out. Said when they awoke from the Fade at the Circle, it felt like their babies died - _exactly how Alistair felt_ \- and she never let herself mourn. “But n-now it’s all coming ba-back and _it just hurts s-s-”_ Tess hiccuped _“-so much!”_

The one thing they would always have that no one else could intrude on. That dream began their marriage. Try as either of them might to forget it - _to forget the pain of inexplicable loss_ \- they’d not be married now without that dream.

It was hard. None of his training for anything prepared him for this. No one taught him how to compose himself when his mourning wife summoned a cavity in his heart and unending tears. Alistair was trying to breathe, trying to be strong and calm himself for his wife… but he didn’t know how. He could not.

He wished he had strength to tell her it wasn’t the end. He _wanted_ to say _Our children never really died because they were never really real._

But all he could do was cry with her. Not a King with his Queen, but a man and his wife. _A failed husband with his failed wife._ A mess of arms and tears and a void too painful to be fair.

It took too long for tears to dry. By the time sobs waned, Alistair and Tess were little more than an exhausted tangle of limbs. Bit by bit, they unwound. Searched each other’s tear-stained fallen faces. Leaned in for salty kisses and lingered again in arms. _Tried to smell children that never existed in each other._ It felt at least another hour before they decided to stop wasting away on the edge of the bed and sleep instead.

Tess looked through the pictures once more before holding them out for Alistair to hide again. She looked up to reveal watery eyes again, and Alistair returned to her side on the bed. He gathered up his wife again. smoothed her hair and put his lips to her head, holding her as close as he could.

 _Wife again._ And at least for the night, he was husband again. He wished it never had to happen this way. But maybe mourning together was the only way after all that had happened.

“We can still _make_ them real, Tess,” he reminded _his wife._ Tess calmed for a second, then pulled back to look at him.

“Make them real?” she echoed. The way she searched him hurt, like she expected him to pull a miracle from his sleeve.

Alistair wished it was that easy.

He nodded, cupping her face. Fought rising tears as he searched her eyes. Tucked her hair behind her ears and caressed her skin. _His wife_ , his sweet, beautiful wife. _The mother of his children,_ even if they weren’t born yet. “We _can_ now,” he still nodded. “Remember? We can _actually try_ now.”

Tess, hurting and hopeful, nodded, and before Alistair could say anything else, she leaned in. Wet cheeks and eager hearts entangled husband and wife in arms and hands once more. _A solution to shared pain._ Mourning turned to determination in a blink. With a love that began their marriage now refreshed in their minds, husband and wife tried again.

 _Mother and Da_ tried again. _For each other._

And for the first night in months, they went to bed in each other’s arms, encouraged. Love and perseverance - and dreaming - was worth it.

 

 

_Tess:_

_I remember him from the Fade. How he was. How he moved, how he ate. How he looked at me. I remember how he treated our daughters. He accepted them the moment he saw them, no questions. He didn’t wonder where they came from. He built our house there, too, and the chicken coop. The fence, the beds, the table, the stairs, everything. He built it all for us, and added improvements as time improved our family. In the Fade, Alistair was our backbone. He was_ **my** _backbone._

_He didn’t want to leave. I remember it too clear now: I’d let myself get swept away in the dream, and Alistair vowed to stay with me. He knew it wasn’t real the whole time, but he played along. And he chose to wither away in the Fade with me where we could have a family not possible outside it. He chose to die with me for the dream._

_Alistair made his own sacrifices long ago. Even outside the Fade, now that I recall. Long before I ended the Blight._

_… Before I even fell in love with him._

_I didn’t realize the value of my own sacrifice till Sigrun Joined, and only now do I recognize Alistair’s. I remember the night of my Joining. I can picture it as if it happens all over again. Alistair holding out his hand, offering to make my life mean something. That was his sacrifice: taking on my burdens to give my survival meaning. He vowed to shoulder my burdens to… let happiness into my life once more. So I could find greatness._

_And doing so over-encumbered him._

_My eyes tear up and blur the sleeping King next to me. Blinking only spills fat drops._

_He is so beautiful. Older than my memory of meeting him. The lines that used to only define when he laughed have begun lingering at the at the outer corners of his eyes; stress lines, Teagan calls them. Tiny beads of sweat pepper on his forehead and along his sideburns; ever sensitive to the heat of our overnight hearth. He is larger than I met him, more defined everywhere, most of all his shoulders. This same mouth which yells at me when he’s overwhelmed only hours ago murmured Love in the most tender tones. The same lips of which he plants kisses of adoration, or desire; sometimes sorrow. He looks little different from my memory of the Fade, watching him sleep before the sun rose our daughters. When he sleeps, he looks content. The perfect, sweet husband the Fade gave me._

_Alistair doesn’t stir when I move when I move matted tendrils from his face. His arm has not moved from over me. Even during the Blight he did this. There were few days, then, I did not wake up in his arms._

_Maybe even court is a burden? He seems to enjoy it. But maybe that is just another burden he shoulders? A mask he wears to… so he can make my life easy for me. Like he keeps insisting._

_Carrying my burdens so I could be happy flooded him with fear. His vow turned me into his Purpose._

_No wonder he’s so frightened to lose me._

_Maker, what have I done to us?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	43. One Big Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships strengthen as the Wardens stop by Anders' childhood home, then King Bhelen surprises Tess with a royal gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Snow, by Machineheart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUXfgdMvMZ0)  
> [Paradise, by Coldplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G4isv_Fylg)

 

The reconciliation of the King and Queen took no Warden by surprise. Disappointed, considering what transpired in Kal’Hirol, but not surprised. While they all waited on horseback, King Alistair neared hand-in-hand with his wife and gestured with noise for their Commander’s steed.

For once, neither monarch looked hurt. Neither stressed or crying, yet both convicted. Gazing like they missed each other already. Looking in love. With a certain Healer’s back to them, husband and wife embraced like they wished for more time that morning. A hug that steeped love and devotion, like there had never been a mage on the side; like _That Mage_ wasn’t paces over on his own steed. King Alistair pulled back to see his wife’s face; the eyes of a man drowning in love. Hands on her face closed her eyes and drew her up to her husband’s lips. The Wardens looked away, feeling like voyeurs on intimacy best left for a bedroom.

Not far enough away to not eavesdrop. King Alistair helped the Commander on her horse. Gazing while she pulled on her riding gloves and adjusted the reins, he voiced a desire: when she returns, he’d like her to find him. He wished to do something with her alone, outside of the palace. Something somewhere they didn’t need to be King and Queen, and could focus on each other instead of duty.

It was no surprise the Commander stared off in oblivion as the Wardens rode from Denerim. Though now, they wondered what would become of _That Mage._

Over an hour she remained quiet. When her Wardens could no longer pretend the Commander’s silence didn’t concern them, Arl Teagan rode next to her. He insisted, assuring the new members of Tesslyn’s family that tides changed again for her. As the Arl put it, best to ease into a tossing ocean than dive in too far from land.

“Sovereign for your thoughts, my dear?” Teagan told his sort-of-daughter. When Tess still did not respond, he nudged his horse into hers. Plum turned and nipped the Arl’s boot, drawing a scold from Teagan and Tess’ gaze.

“What?” Tesslyn asked.

“I merely offer an ear,” Teagan told her. “You’ve been most quiet since we left the city. Your party begins to worry.” He watched her stare for a moment. Then she turned her head again in concern of her own. “What can this old man do for his dearest girl?” he implored.

“I’m only thinking.” She shook her head. Another pause. “Trying to process the night, Teagan. It’s… different. I’m trying to figure what this means for my life right now.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve made up,” he encouraged. “I haven’t seen peace on either of you in a long time.”

“That’s…” A full sigh filled and sank her. “I’m confused, Teagan. If this had happened before Anders grew on me…”

Teagan knew what she meant. Loving her husband again would wound her and the mage. With Anders in the picture, falling back in love with her husband was a complication.

“When I look back on how I fell in love with Alistair,” she continued, “when I remember things without meaning to… like walking through Orzammar, and feeling Anora’s baby kick… I remember how much I love him. I question why I ever stopped loving him. Then I spend five minutes with Anders - _not counting now. Last night is ruining me_ \- and Alistair feels like a distant cage I’ve waited years to escape.” Tesslyn paused. Teagan watched a guilt-ridden gaze drop and reins wrap around her hand. She never failed to pull at his heartstrings. “What happened to me, Teagan? I don’t know who the Real Me is anymore. I don’t know, and it’s…” With water glistening at her eyelashes, she tried to even out a deep breath. “-becoming impossible for me to honor either of them. At this rate, I’ll need two of me to satisfy both my lives.”

Breath filled Teagan as well. He rode next to her, quiet in thought for a moment. “Do you know,” he began with a squeeze to her hand, “there were times during the Blight I wanted to question your… unusual situation with Alistair. The orders and submission.” He nodded. Teagan saw her stare from the corner of his eye. “However, each time I saw you, that shell you mortar up around yourself broke off little by little.” He turned his head at met his _daughter’s_ eyes. “I hadn’t seen you smile or laugh so much since childhood, so I kept my mouth shut and let you have your romance. Was most unusual, but you enjoyed life for the first time in years, and that was enough for me.

 _“Now,_ as I observe you,” Teagan continued. As in her youth, emerald eyes watched him form every word. “- this mage is more along the lines I wanted you to walk. I still believe Cailan was your perfect match, dearest, but this Anders fellow comes close. He encourages your potential, and I’ve witnessed incredible talent emerge. This is something I have not seen happen with Alistair.” As much as Teagan loved the boy as his own, Alistair pushed hard to _ensure_ things were _meant_ for him. Including Tesslyn. No doubt a result of childhood neglect, and so a thing not to blame on the boy. But difficult nonetheless. “For the first time, I see you with your own relationships - bonds formed out of kindred hearts, not the necessity to survive - and I see support for _you;_ not paid support for the Queen. You, my dear, are stuck at an unfortunate fork: to live happy ever after in the confidence of Alistair’s _More Than Love_ … or live happy ever after with your own, true friends.” Teagan squeeze her hand again. “I don’t envy your predicament, my dear. But I will support your every step, no matter what direction you turn.” He smiled the smile that guaranteed made her return one. “I always have. I always will. You know this.”

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_If Teagan hadn’t drawn my attention, I might have ridden half the day lost in thought. Or longer. I look around at my Wardens now to see the damage I’ve done. Teagan said it’s been only an hour, but it feels like longer, even with Denerim well in sight behind me._

_Nothing quite detrimental. No one seems to notice I withdrew into myself. Sigrun and Nathaniel pass food back and forth, looking through the bag of sweets from the royal kitchens. Justice walks with Teagan’s guards discussing weapons and the balance of swords to shields. Oghren rides next to Anders, interrupting cringe-worthy jokes to comment on Justice’s conversation. And Anders…_

_As if he feels my gaze, Anders turns his head. My heart aches as his eyes lock on. My favorite smile stretches on his face like he knows what I feel right now._

_He always knows. And like all other times, the sight of him warms my chest and flutters my belly. Reflections from the peeking sun above make his eyes sparkle and shine._

_Without a word, Teagan pats my hand and steers his horse away. In fluid transition like they planned it, Teagan inserts himself in Justice and Oghren’s banter while Anders pulls his steed next to mine. No one else seems to notice their switch._

_I’m reminded I haven’t been this near Anders since yesterday evening. The butterflies in my gut still flutter and his presence still comforts, but now guilt anchors my heart. I didn’t even tell him why I left Anora’s chambers last night, I just left. And I avoided everyone till the palace fell quiet and the corridor lights dimmed. Then I… spent the night with… my husband._

_“Don’t look at me like that. Please,” his voice is low; a conversation for only us when other follow nearby. As I search his eyes, the sparkles change to affection masking hurt._

_I want to apologize. But sound feels stuck in my throat now._

_Anders - my Baldric - offers the same sad smile he always does when things like… last night come between us. “I know who I got involved with,” he reminds me. He reminds me each time I apologize for loving my husband again. “Whatever your choice, it’s fine,” he insists. “We both knew this day would come.” But I see the heartache in his eyes._

_I’ve hurt him._

_It was different this time. It wasn’t just Alistair seducing me. I loved my husband last night, and I spent an entire night trying to make children Alistair never stops dreaming about. I tried to make a fake dream come true. It wasn’t just sex._

_When I began feeling for Anders, I didn’t love my husband like I did last night. Like I did when I mounted my horse and left Denerim behind._

_How can it be possible to love two men at once?_

_I open my mouth and force words to my tongue, but it is Anders’ voice which sounds first: “Would you like an ear?” he offers._

_I can’t help the sound that comes out, like a laugh and a disappointed sigh. I shake my head at him, at the smile reacting to my silly noise. “Telling one lover about my night with the other?”_

_“It wouldn’t be the first time.” His smile spreads, and the sparkle of affection returns._

_He means my dream of Cailan. I scoff a laugh again. “That doesn’t count. Cailan was never actually my husband, and he’s not even… here for me to…_ **do** _that stuff with.”_

_Anders nods, the corner of his mouth pinched in a smirk. “I heard a great deal about him, though. If I recall right, you dreamt he and I… were the same size.” I groan in dread; though in truth I want to laugh. Anders giggles at me with a broad grin._

_And the butterflies stir and warmth spreads all over again._

_He always does this. How does he always do this? He makes_ **everything** _all right again. He makes the pain go away._

 _“Who you have sex with doesn’t bother me, I promise.” Anders shrugs. “Until you, sex wasn’t personal. So…” He meets my eyes again with a sheepish smile. “If you need to talk about your night with your…_ **that man** _… I’ll listen.”_

 _I can’t help my own smile. "Right._ **That man.”**

 **“He** _bothers me. Not the fact you slept with him. Did you have a good time, at least?” His eyes don’t waver from mine._

 **So strange** _to hear one lover ask about my time with another. I hesitate before nodding, turning my eyes away. I still feel guilty. “I finally understand what they mean by make-up sex is the best.”_

 _“Oh, that’s_ **true?”** _Anders sounds all too interested. I look at him again; he grins at my frown of caution. That spark of mischief in his eye is suspicious and delightful. “If you want,_ **we** _could have a fight. So we could make up.”_

_A giggle bubbles up before I can squash it, and Anders’ grin spreads. His happiness is pure and infectious._

_I love him. I can’t stop how large my heart swells when he’s with me. I love him without ever fighting with him first. Without needing to almost die with him first._

_This is still strange for me, loving two men._

_“You’ll have to settle for our normal-” I break off to check how close the others are, if they’re listening. “- sessions.” His giggle stretches my smile. Meeting his eyes all but melts my insides. “I hope you and I never fight.” I mean it. I never wanted to fight with Alistair, either, but I don’t feel compelled to defend myself with Anders like I have around with my husband._

_“So far so good. I’m glad we haven’t. I’m glad we were friends before… what did Nate call it.” Anders pauses in thought. “Oh, our magical groping session.” I giggle with him._

_I loved every moment training with him. Purity and soothing like I’ve never known life could be. No matter what becomes of he and I in the end, I will always treasure that time._

_His eyes drift for a second, then return. “I honestly can’t imagine how awkward the Keep would be if we did.” He’s right. The Keep would fall into disarray if we fought and we’d all part separate ways, unable to be free of each other quick enough. I never expected to become friends with this mage, but I’m grateful we are. Underlying physical attraction is the most beautiful heart I’ve ever known._

_Words escape me. I can only stare, but Anders never seems to mind. We do a lot of staring. He believes eyes are the windows to the soul, and if one stares long enough or at the right moment, both souls cross a point of merging. I never gave the idea much thought before, though it’s always felt like silent conversation with him. Like meditation for each other. It feels like our auras take these moments to align. And it is beautiful, always._

_It feels like that now. I don’t know how to describe this feeling except Peace. I can breathe, relax. Smile and mean it; not because I must for show. The part of me that loves Alistair fights to keep and create life, which now, even with a new womb, always mingles with strife. But the part that loves Anders accepts Fate and embraces the peace that comes with such acceptance. And he is proof Fate is so much more than death._

_Peace. That’s what he does for me._

_I unwind Plum’s reins from my hand and reach over with my palm to the sky; our silent gesture to accept each other further._

_But Anders holds a finger up for me to wait, and turns his head._

_“Hand those over, you two! I confiscated those fair and square,” he calls to my cousin and Sigrun._

_They twist on their horses with a matching glare and Sigrun hides the bag of sweets out of sight. Nathaniel turns his head enough to hide whatever he shoves in his mouth. I can’t help but giggle. Anders glances at me with a violent twitch at the corner of his lips._

_“No way!” Sigrun shakes her head. “Finders, keepers!”_

_“I will_ **paralyze** _you both, I’m not even joking!” He can’t say it without a chuckle._

_My Wardens make life perfect. I couldn’t ask for a better life._

 

_Snow fell our second morning out. After a chilling night which required two large tents to conserve warmth, we woke to a drizzle of white powder. It was like visiting Rainesfere in Winter all over again, when Teagan still ruled there. A magical treat. Sigrun rode next to me and we held our hands out countless moments to watch it gather and melt; of course we tried to eat it. It glittered around us in the light of magic fire, and every time a flake dropped down a collar, we all laughed. When we woke two days later to a thick coat of stuck snow, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden - led by the Queen - had a snowball fight. In South’s Reach’s town square._

_Teagan was the one to put an end to our play. Unintentionally, I learned later. But when I saw him standing with Arl Leonas Bryland on the brick path towards the castle, I dropped my ball of frost and snapped to attention._

_Years ago, Leonas dared Nathaniel Howe to return to Ferelden. And now here my cousin was, laughing his head off and tossing snow like a child._

_Anders noticed my hesitation first. He stood near and asked what was wrong, while I watched Leonas’ eyes move from me to Nathaniel. When my cousin stepped up to ask if I was all right, I watched Leonas’ eyes narrow._

_I stood tall, glared back, and ordered Leonas not to dare. “Nathaniel Howe is_ **not** _his father,” as Queen I defended my cousin from his blood uncle who wished revenge for Rendon’s actions._

_Teagan intervened with his silver tongue and convinced Leonas to a warm ale with us in the tavern. After silence and a studious glare, Leonas agreed. Nathaniel, hesitant, also agreed. Our group drink was quiet and awkward… until Oghren broke wind so hard it echoed from his seat. A blink later, laughter erupted from our large table, drinks spilled, and my cousin fell off his chair for laughing too hard._

_And Leonas helped him up. After who knows how long it took for us all to catch breath, my cousin’s uncle opened up. By the time the Arls grew tipsy, Leonas invited us to stay in town another night, in his home. I woke the next day to learn my cousin and his uncle stayed up till sunrise. Nathaniel bloodied his lip and chin, Leonas gave him a black eye… then they slumped by the fire together and honored the memory of Arlessa Eliane - Nathaniel’s mother and Leonas’ sister - with a bottle of wine between shots._

_Needless to say, we stayed another night so Nathaniel could rest._

_All because Oghren farted like a trumpet in a quiet tavern._

_Then it was Anders’ turn. As we neared Lothering, the oat fields Anders grew up in came in view. Linderfeld; sacked during the Blight and rebuilt the following spring as if nothing ever happened, and still famous for overabundant oats. He grew quiet and stared. Sadness and longing etched his face as we rode, so I told the others to ride ahead to Lothering and wait for us there. With what we carried on our horses, I took my Baldric’s hand and redirected us._

_I wasn’t there for Nathaniel’s mourning. I wasn’t there when Fergus mourned. I almost wish I’d let Anders do this alone, or not taken him here at all. Some things are best processed with no witnesses._

_There are only two families left of the original town; others are new residents who exploited the free land. An aging man recognized Anders without hesitation. Stopped chopping wood the second he saw us and stared till we stayed our horses in the small town center. Seamus, the town carpenter. Anders stared in disbelief at the only adult to survive Linderfeld’s demise._

_According to this carpenter, Anders is the spitting image of his father._

_My Warden had two brothers and a sister. The carpenter recalled two sons a year apart, born not long after Anders was sent away, then a daughter in Nine: Twenty-Five._

_When Anders asked if his siblings were also mages, the carpenter said No, then asked how Anders “got away”. He also asked if Anders needed a place to stay for the night. The man found it hard to believe Anders wasn’t on the run, and that I’m the Queen and Commander of the Grey. He found it harder to believe the Queen wasn’t here to demand resources for the Crown._

_He then said Anders’ mother would have been proud. “Marna always wanted the best for you. She hoped you’d become the Circle headmaster and return one day.” Before my Baldric had time to mourn, the carpenter said the Blight was not kind to the Meiers. No one knew what became of the baby girl or the eldest son. Barrett Meier - Anders’ father - died suffering the Taint, like others who tried to fight the darkspawn off; a mercy killing was necessary. Marna was last seen wailing over the body of her youngest son, whence she was dragged off by darkspawn; as were most women in town._

_I stood trying to hide my horror while Anders disconnected himself from emotion in front a stranger who knew him. He was frozen in the in-between, the line where nightmares become reality but aren’t quite happening yet. The place where you see green and good on one side and unending blood and death on the other, and you see death advancing but cannot move; most people wake up before the nightmare strikes. It did not matter he’d never see the horror of his loving mother dragged away. The image enhanced on its own by what we saw in Kal’Hirol and… and when a Childer dragged me in Blackmarsh. Andraste, he had a clear image prepared for him months ago. I still hurt for him._

_I got naught but small words from Anders through the rest of the evening, till I passed by his room at the inn and heard a sob. I picked the lock, only to lock it again when I slipped inside. He didn’t look up when I sat next to him on the bed, nor when I tucked his hair behind his ear and said his name. Face hidden in his hands, whole body jerking with each sob and gasp. Crumpled into his limbs like he was a scared, lost child again. He didn’t fight me when I pulled him in my arms._

_The imagery of his mother - the woman who wanted to hide him from the Templars - dragged away is as bad as my memory of leaving my dying father knowing my mother would end up the same. I don’t even know what his mother looked like, yet I see her. The goodbye I was granted when Duncan dragged me off felt worthless._ **Anders** _never had_ **any** _goodbye. Even worse to know we assumed his family_ **only** _died_ **burning** _… but to find out we were so wrong…_

_He cried himself to sleep hours later. I still have bruises from fingernails in my back._

_And he doesn’t have his mother’s pillow with him._

_Letting yourself finally grieve is the harshest torment._

 

 

_Today is not as hard. We’re in no rush to greet the day. My shoulder and neck is sore from sleeping upright last night, but I don’t tell him. We linger on the edge of the bed, and Anders hangs his head in shame. When he thought of returning, he meant to show me where he used to play as a child. Thought we could sneak around shadows for quick romance. He’d hoped his old play fort still stood; a sorrowful laugh when he recalled his first kiss there, a girl two years his senior who hid from chores. Instead, he feels like he did when the Templars took him. Learning the only survivors were two children he never knew and a friend of his father’s… the father who summoned Templars to take him away._

_He says if we have a baby, he will die protecting him; or her. He will kill every Templar he sees till he knows his child is safe. He doesn’t understand how_ **his** _father just gave him up, when his_ **mother** _fought to keep him._

 _He says it’s unfair his father received a mercy killing but his mother was dragged off. The carpenter had said the last survivors_ **watched** _his mother dragged off. This only adult survivor we spoke to showed Anders’ weak father mercy but not his strong mother._

 _When Anders looks at me at last, his eyes are red and his face stained with heartbreak. “We’re doing a good thing, aren’t we?” he asks. “Wardens are supposed to keep that from_ **happening** _to anyone else. Right?”_

_I don’t know what to tell him save for what he already knows. We fight so families can stay together. So daughters and sons and mothers don’t have to get dragged off. Our sacrifice means life can go on. We can only strive our best and hope it saves a generation._

_Anders says he wishes he could do more._

_The innkeeper surprises me when at last we emerge. He apologizes for not recognizing me last night - calls me Your Majesty - and serves us hot tea and fresh meat pie at a table by the hearth. And it does wonders we’d not guessed yesterday when we checked in. At least while our food digests, we don’t feel like crying._

_Bellies full and spirits lifted, Anders and I walk around town. I never saw Linderfeld growing up, but Anders says it has changed. He walks me down the main road till a house blocks our path. The grinding mill once stood here, he says, and a silo behind it. Where his childhood home stood is now an open storage to gardening tools; rakes, hoes, scythes, and stores of harvested roots. So many new houses and buildings. Almost a new town altogether._

_He can’t take me where he used to play as a child. He can’t show me the small rock fort he built. Anders can’t take me where he used to go for walks with his mother. But we agree it may be a good thing. There is no reminder darkspawn were ever here. There are no bad memories to reconstruct as we walk through because roads have changed and new residents have built new homes, new silos. Only the town well remains, but everything else is different, and different means the horrors can never come back to light here. New families can grow here. New children can make their own memories now._

_And this time, Anders hopes, no Templars will march in to take kids away._

_Residents still wander about packing winter stores away. Barrels are fitted, handles or hinges secured. The same two women walk back and forth to fill up at the well. Anders and I make our way through stalls still open till heavier snow falls. Carrots for ours horses, fresh sweet cakes with hot icing for ourselves. I browse the smithy for leather plates and a new tarp, then meet Anders at a small stand to find he’s bought me a necklace made of tiny seashells and a matching ring; trinkets made by a young girl hoping to start her own business when she’s of age. He fastens the necklace around me, then slips the ring over a finger on my right hand. I hold them up out of a shadow and admire their shine in the winter sun. I’ve always loved seashells._

_He’s bought a ring for himself, too. I meet his eyes as he holds a matching shell ring in his hand. Dalish elves give each other rings upon marriage, Anders explains._

_My breath flies away._

_He says I don’t have to think of it as marriage, but I’m special to him. He wants to give me something to remember that, something I can take with me anywhere. “Whatever becomes of us… until you tire of me, I’m yours, Tess.” Even if he remains my second husband forever. I’m the person he dreams of growing old with. Even if we never run away one last time._

_I can’t stop my tears. They swell and spill out with no warning, and it’s hard to breathe. I take the ring from his palm with a sniffle, and Anders cups my face with a chuckle and kisses my tears. His breath on my face warms my body in tingles._

_Right in the middle of this snowy town around people we don’t know, he’s declaring his heart to me. A moment of shyness overcomes him, and he says he knows there are more romantic, less snowy ways to do this. I pull a hand from my face anyway. His eyes watch my hand and search my face while I find the best finger for his ring. Then we stare._

_Two hands. Two rings. Shells representing love, journeying, protection, power, and prosperity._ **Freedom.** _Shells that roll with tides and enjoy where it takes them. A sum of our time together. Things we’ve experienced. Things we dream of._

_It’s perfect for us._

_I lean up. My Baldric meets my kiss and draws me in. My own admission of love is lost in his lips. Shows of love and appreciation out here in a snowy town afore people we don’t know._

_Only time will tell if we are silly for this. It is beautiful all the same. Out here in snow amid people we don’t know after a night of mourning, I love him._

_I love him._

 

 

_When the cold nips too hard and we have no new stretch of town to discover, we enter the warmth and stench of the stables. And we find another familiar steed tied up. My cousin’s horse. Nathaniel is here; that explains how the innkeeper now knows me. I can’t help a smile. Appreciation glows from Anders; the man he calls brother came to be with him through memory lane._

_We never even felt Nathaniel over each other during the night. Returning to the inn reveals my cousin’s slight form sitting over a steaming mug, and we head over as if ordered to. When he turns, Nathaniel’s face is not yet awake; always nocturnal in a world where we must do what we can before sunlight disappears. Glad to see us as we are to see him._

_As soon as we sit, Nate asks how Anders holds up. With a lopsided smile, Anders admits he was not fit for socializing last night. Not that we felt Nate’s Taint over our own anyway. Without divulging in the town’s only tavern, I explain it was a night with more information than we were prepared for. Nate studies Anders with a slow nod, then claps his shoulder and squeezes, and calls for “a mug of your best” for his brother._

_And as my boys clank their cups in otherwise silent toast - they both mourned their mothers this week - Nathaniel notices our hands. With a nod to Anders’ ring and a glance to my new necklace, he asks if seashells are a new addition to our uniforms._

_We hesitate to answer. There is no definite answer for our rings. Tokens of love that symbolize how our lives have changed. Like shells still in the ocean, tides push and pull; who knows what our futures hold? Union, yet we already felt so, and we understand it could all end tomorrow. We accept this journey together. Tokens of acceptance and love._

_It seems our hesitation is all the answer my cousin need. Nathaniel sits back and holds a hand up to stop us before we’ve begun speaking. “Nevermind. I no longer want to know.” We can’t help but giggle at him._

 

 

_Riding into Lothering feels like a family reunion. Oghren, first to greet us, has been bored out of his mind and challenges me to a drinking contest because no one in town can keep up. Sigrun has learned more about the Chantry than she ever knew she never wanted to learn. Justice says he now avoids anyone with a Chantry symbol because they won’t stop trying to convince him to leave the body and “let it rest in peace.” I can’t help but laugh. But before I can promise to sort out the Chantry, Teagan strides up the salted path and insists I get out of the cold. He “commissioned fresh stew and fine wine” for us the moment the watchtower reported our approach._

_“No one here knows the Commander is also the Queen,” he whispers with a nod toward Anders while he takes my cloak. “Enjoy yourself tonight, my dear.”_

_There is something here Teagan neglected to mention before I arrived. Though I try no to stare for long, I don’t know how to react. I did not see it in the winter twilight as we rode up last night, but here in the middle of town, is a statue… dedicated to the Hero of Ferelden._

_Me._

_While this statue lacks the bosoms the one in Denerim bears, the plaque commemorates the Hero’s efforts in sustaining and liberating Lothering during the Blight. When all seemed against “her, the Hero” sacrificed comfort and recognition to give refugees of the Blight a fighting chance. “If not for her selfless aid, the residents and refugees in Lothering would not survive in the new generations born today.”_

_I don’t know how to react. This pinches at my heart in ways I don’t deal with in Denerim or at The Keep. Unlike Linderfeld, most residents of Lothering and those who sought refuge here survived. I don’t recall what I did here making a difference… It was me, Alistair, and Morrigan. We met Leliana and liberated Sten in exchange for help stopping the Blight. What we did in town - jobs, negotiating - we did because we needed coin and armor and survival supplies. The wealth now piled in the royal vault began here. When we heard the town fell, it seemed like we wasted our efforts. We had no choice to stop here, but it felt for naught._

_I had no idea it affected these people so deep. I had no idea they saw our actions as selfless aid._

_And I am reminded in Denerim, my - first - husband awaits, ever an unseen element in the story of the Hero of Ferelden. No one here knows how much the King of Ferelden helped the Hero here. I endured withdrawals here, I scarred myself scratching, My Taint set in here and I thought I was a victim of blood magic._

_And remembering why Alistair and I needed supplies to begin with surfaces memories I don’t favor. Memories that became nightmares that still haunt me this day._

_As much as I appreciated the hot bath and hot food last night, I am glad to leave this town._

 

 

_With snow now blanketing the country, showing my Wardens where I underwent my Joining is not an option. Our Anderfels steeds ride fast even through snow - and love playing in it while we ride - but Fereldan winter is a mighty harsh bitch at night. We don’t want to risk frostbite, or worse; surviving a Broodmother lair only to freeze to death is insulting. We ride straight through to Redcliffe, where we’ll part from Teagan and his knights._

_As the days pass, the deeper the snow sets. The farther we ride, the more the country looks more like a painting and the fresh powder sparkles around us as the sunlight moves. We wake each day to at least another few inches. When we reach Redcliffe, and the chill grows more bitter. Teagan has done wonders rebuilding this town, but now the lake dares to freeze over, bringing with it wispy fog that rolls over on to land like a cursed beckoning. The edges are already frozen; good thing ice fishing runs in Fereldan veins._

_Anders walks around Teagan’s home with a smile on his face. He’s never been far enough out of Ferelden to see plants like this so clustered. Teagan’s affinity for tropical and exotic plants is like a new world altogether. He will never tell the other nobles, but Teagan grows and harvests most these plants himself. His green thumb has always been a source of envy for me; he taught me a great deal about exotic ingredients before I ever met San Amoldo. We spy on Anders and Nathaniel, now, in the winter garden. Two grown boys giggling at fat birds who seem unaffected by human presence yet start easy when the boys jump a sudden in sight. Each start makes the birds rear back with a trumpet and fan bright blue tail feathers. Mousers peek in earnest at the giant flightless birds my boys can’t seem to stop entertaining themselves with. Only when Nate starts the birds so much one falls over does Teagan intervene, chuckling all the same. Only his garden at Rainesfere came close to this magical, and fun._

_Before we leave Redcliffe, Teagan makes me promise to summon him or ride over when I next feel overwhelmed. He doesn’t want to find out the hard way again the Hero of Ferelden feels trapped._

_For all the pain and chaos I’ve caused in my life, I think I must have done the Maker a valuable favor before birth. And despite all Alistair did to save me from my addictions during the Blight, I would never have seen the Blight if it weren’t for Teagan. He has been my lifeline my entire life. My spine, and often my legs._

 

 

_Returning to Orzammar is another emotional experience. First order of business is accompanying King Bhelen as he informs the Shaperate of the sole Grey Warden Legionnaire. The Shaper refuses to recognize Sigrun as once-Casteless, but he adds her name to the memories alongside Paragons and Kings - Greats of Orzammar. Sigrun fights overwhelm as she accepts a Shaper’s Amulet as a token of gratitude for her hard work. A token with an otherwise useless enchantment that represents great importance in Orzammar. Bhelen says he will bring the matter of anointing her a Living Paragon before the Assembly - Sigrun is, after all, the very first of her kind. I can’t help a smile when the Shaper agrees._

_Sigrun asks me to pinch her awake._

_I can’t be more proud of her. Bhelen’s open influence is obvious, but Sigrun has earned such honor. While we both know she will never be known in dwarven history as born Casteless, the notion alone is monumental. Running for her life_ **wasn’t** _cowardice; she_ **knows** _now. She can live on to make sure no other little Casteless girls suffer as she and her shieldmates did. Sigrun the Warden Legionnaire is important, in death_ **and** _life now._

_Bhelen whisks us away to the the palace before we have time to distract ourselves. He has a new chef and is proud to show him off to people who have tasted cuisine from around Thedas. He insists we fill our bellies and plan for a week to taste everything._

_Bhelen is also a man to discuss business over food; gore is mundane to dwarves. Withholding my marital problems, me and my Wardens take turns reporting on Kal’Hirol. Sigrun recalls once more the fall of the Legion. We describe the cocoons and Children and how they mutate after eating darkspawn. Sigrun and Oghren remember the condition of the thaig best and what can be salvaged; Anders shudders when they mention the crumbled exposure to the surface. Everything we can remember from the new spawn armor and tactics, to the colossal inferno golem and its talking hurlock master, the infighting spawn clans, to the garden of broodmothers._

_I offer to train the new Legion. With my Wardens, we can prepare a new generation of Dead to defend Orzammar. Sigrun, our talented artist, says she’s already begun a training manual. She expected, as the Last Legionnaire, the responsibility to rebuild would fall to her. She has nowhere the experience as Kardol, the previous Lieutenant, but she’s been Dead for almost a year and knows how to strike back. Anders, who fares well in Orzammar because it feels like a house not a cave, nods and offers to train a new Legion how to defend themselves from magical attacks. Oghren can teach a new generation how to be proper Berserkers._

_I don’t forget about my plan to take over the lyrium trade. Bhelen, the unorthodox dwarven King he is with a knack for gaining power, agrees the second I say I aim to control lyrium flow to the surface. Without delay, Bhelen asks how he can help. I tell him of the lyrium I took back to Vigil’s Keep, and how the dwarven mason he sent reckons the tunnels beneath open to Kal’Hirol. It takes him all two seconds to say he’ll send for the Carta leader in the morning. Through them, the casteless not entering the new Legion will learn the surface trade routes and create a new one down here. Ortan thaig will become the new home of the Legion and the casteless. Even if all we manage to clear is a path from Orzammar to Vigil’s Keep, it will be worth it. In Ortan, he’ll encourage the Casteless to breed. In time, Orzammar will have numbers to strengthen the Legion like never before and push the darkspawn out of the southern Roads and Dead Trenches - where overgrown gardens of lyrium lie in wait. Caridin’s Cross will bustle again. “And,” he adds, “this may be just the thing to reunite us with Kal’Sharok up north.” For good measure, he says he’ll send a sliver of the Carta to live at Vigil’s Keep to ensure the Chantry stays off our back. King Bhelen would rather have someone he trusts controlling the trade. I glance at my Wardens in amusement as he finishes voicing my entire proposition for me._

_“It will be risky,” Bhelen cocks his head. “Your Chantry won’t like it. But it’s Orzammar’s choice every year to renew the trade contract.” He smiles his business smile for me. “They’ll have to find us first.” It may also be what the Assembly needs to understand the Caste system is flawed._

_My thoughts fly to Rica, whom he still can’t marry because the Assembly has a stick call Tradition up their assess._

_It is then I become aware Rica is not present at the table with us. In fact, I haven’t seen her since we arrived. Before I consider if they’ve split, I ask where she is. King Bhelen takes a deep breath and he looks at us all. Then he wipes his beard with an embroidered napkin and puts down his fork. His eyes stare at me almost graven._

_“Walk with me.” He nods toward the hall as he stands._

_I share a glance with my Wardens and stand anyway. Anders, like always, reads and predicts well. “Should I come?” he offers._

_Bhelen hesitates. “Not just yet. You’ll see soon enough.”_

_I haven’t seen Bhelen so concerned since we found the Anvil of the Void. “Has something happened?”_

_“In a sense. It’s not something I can talk about out here,” he insists. He leads me through the doors and around the corner._

_“Should Anders come along?”_

_“That’s not necessary.” Bhelen shakes his head. “But I hope he’ll assist you later with what I’m about to show you.”_

_“You know how spark a lady’s intrigue, Your Majesty,” I tease, but I hear how wary I sound._

_Bhelen gives a chuckle, pausing his feet to gesture down the hall to his chambers. “If only the Assembly was as charmed as you are.”_

_“Oh, you may not want that,” I shake my head. His grin makes me smirk. “You haven’t seen how easily impressed I am sometimes.”_

_Hand on his door, Bhelen glances up at with a coy eye. “I remember quite clear. I’ve seen you and lyrium, remember? And gems.”_

_“I was talking about dragons,” I grin._

_“Of course you were.” But his next steps freeze me. Beyond Bhelen on the King’s bed sits Rica. With a crying babe._

_“You had your second!” It comes out a gasp. With Anora so swollen in Denerim, I almost forgot Rica was also expecting. Only she’s no longer expecting._

_“We indeed had our second.” Bhelen leads me by the arm when my feet aren’t fast enough._

_Rica bursts in a huge smile when she sees me. Before I can congratulate them, the baby steals her attention with a wail. When she looks back up at me, her eyes have glossed._

_“Is it wrong to wish you came next week instead?” her voice strains. “Not that I’m not glad to see you. I’m always happy when you visit. I just…” she looks down at the babe in her arms and a tear falls. Bhelen steps up and puts an arm on her back._

_I look from Rica to Bhelen, unsure what I’ve walked into. “I admit I am beyond confused right now. Shouldn’t you be happy?” I ask._

_Rica wipes her face with one hand, then smiles at me and holds out the bundled babe. Falling asleep with a pacifier in his mouth, but not too tired to protest sleep every other moment. I’ve never seen a dwarven babe before. My arms extend to hold it before I’m even confident that’s what Rica’s offering. When I meet her eyes, she nods with another smile._

_Heavier than I expect. A solid chunk of chubby babe. He almost doesn’t fit in my arms, he’s so large._

_“We only named her last month. Audrunn,” Rica tells me._

_“Her?” As easy to tell as human babes._

_“Yeah.” She nods, eyes misting at her new child. “She’s three months old tomorrow.”_

_“Only three? Heavens, you should see how small humans are.” The tiny face in my arms scrunches up, and I bob my arms. I used to rock my nephew like this, it put him to sleep in moments. Bob my arms and lean from side to side. I can’t help the smile on my face when the tiny face attempts another cry of protest. “My nephew wasn’t this long till he was almost a year,” I recall._

_I haven’t held a baby in… Andraste, I think the last I held was my nephew. That was eight years ago._

_“Our people grow fast,” Rica tells me._

_“An ancient breeding by-product,” Bhelen forces a smile. I gave a double take at him, then Rica. They are most suspicious right now with feigned delight. “We mature fast and live long. Have to work the stone to live.”_

_“Audrunn will walk soon. And she’s already teething,” Rica nods. I get the feeling she’s trying to impress me. “She loves to be rocked, it’s her favorite thing. And sung to. She’s...” Rica pauses to sigh and wince again at the sleepy babe._

_She’s. SHE. Not he. It all a sudden sinks in. Why Rica looks so sad._

**She.**

_Dwarves follow the path of their same-sex parents. Rica having a daughter means…_

_The way their faces fall when I meet their eyes says they know I understand._

_“Bhelen has tried to keep the Assembly away. But they grow more persistent each week.” Rica fights back tears. “They want to brand her face. Like mine.” A bold tattoo with a disgraced meaning: Nothing. Unwanted. Casteless do not exist in the eyes of the Shaperate and so do not exist in the eyes of the castes. Rica hates her tattoo like I hated my scars._

_As if I can stop it by distancing the babe from her parents, I tighten my arms._

_Rica nods. As if it’s what she wants._

_“You can_ **forbid** _them._ **Can’t** _you?” I ask Bhelen._

_“Not forever. They outnumber me, no matter my crown. While some agree the Casteless proved themselves during the Blight, most still value tradition. And they all still agree the Casteless should remain in Dust town.” Bhelen watches his daughter in my arms. “We fear an assassination attempt if I keep refusing them.”_

_“Would they stoop so low?” I ask. How can this be fair? I know surface countries have had heirs from other countries killed, but I’ve never heard of_ **this** _before. Dalish certainly don’t do this, nor Qunari. How can dwarves want to kill a baby who has no chance at legal standing anyway?_

_Bhelen shrugs his head. “We can never be certain, but there are rumors brewing my daughter will be branded one way or the other. They keep insisting I can comply the hard way or the easy way. I don’t know what the hard way entails. And unfortunately, I’m only one person. Even the King must sleep some time.”_

_“But they’ll overlook it,” I protest. An assassination on Casteless here will be dismissed, King’s child or not. The Shaperate will say no one was killed, and the Assembly will not persecute the murderer._

_Rica nods and wipes her nose. “Because she’s casteless. Like her mother.”_

_That is the most unkind law I have heard in years. “What can I do?” I’ve no sway over the Assembly or the Shaperate. I can yell and threaten, but that will only take me so far underground in a realm where I am surrounded by dwarves who oppose whatever I argue. It was hard enough getting them to believe the Ancestors favored us when I walked in with Bhelen and Paragon Branka the golem._

_“Take her.” Rica searches my eyes._

_“What?”_

_“You can take her with you. Can’t you?_ **Please?”** _she implores._

_Take their baby? She can’t really mean to give up her child._

_“Take her back with you to the surface._ **Please,** _Tesslyn. Keep her and_ **raise** _her. You can give her the life we can’t down here. She can grow up in_ **safety,** _she has a_ **chance to live** _with you. Down here,” Rica shakes her head with teary eyes, “she’ll only be shunned. Or end up a noble hunter working for the Carta. Like me.” I remember Sigrun talking about her time in the Carta. Her body was used as the Carta demanded, whenever they demanded. Rica, with her sweet face and voice, made a better Noble Hunter than weapon and was one of the luckier Casteless women. “With this_ **hideous tattoo** _on her face.” A scar that screams Criminal. Distrust and caution, even on a child. “I don’t want that for my daughter._ **Please** _say you’ll take her?”_

_“I--” I don’t know what to say. I look at Bhelen to find him nodding. I don’t know what to do. The King of Orzammar wants me to take his baby away. To live without them. “I can’t feed a baby. I don’t nurse. I--… Are you sure about this?” I ask. “Even if I can find a wet nurse, the nearest town is a day away. What if I can’t find a dwarven nurse?”_

_“When her teeth come in, she should be able to eat just about anything. What we eat. Surface food is always traded here, it’s not foreign to us.” Rica takes another shaky breath. “I have milk stored away. My own. The bucket is lined with frost runes to keep it cool. And if her teeth aren’t fully in next month, she should suffice on surface milk then.”_

_They’re serious. Truly, unwaveringly serious. Bhelen looks resolute, though grim around his eyes. Rica is determined. Her eyes never stop pleading with me._

_“Are you_ **sure?”** _I have to force my voice to make noise. “You_ **truly want** _this?  I mean, consider_ **my** _position,” I insist. This is far too emotional than I was fitted for. As if I was fitted at all. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have daughters,” I remind them. “I’d rather you enjoy what time you have with her.”_

_“We have,” Rica says. “This is something we prepared for since her birth.” Her eyes water again. “I wish I had more time. But we don’t.”_

_“You’re the perfect person to carry our little Princess to a better world,” Bhelen tells me. “You understand struggle, and you have the status to raise our daughter as we wish her raised. If nothing else,” Bhelen smiles at me. But he is much like Alistair. No matter how hard he plays his court face, some things cannot hide. “-then consider this a gift_ **because** _you can’t have children. A chance for you to be a mother when destiny robbed you to make a Hero. You can tell others she is a living peace treaty if you like, whatever pacifies them. But this is our choice._ **You** _are our choice for our daughter.”_

_I look down at the heavy babe in my arms. She sleeps now. Baby Audrunn sleeps like she never left her mother’s arms. I’ve been rocking the whole time and I didn’t even realize it, I’ve been so stunned by this news._

_I... suppose it could work. I’ve two homes to raise her in, and I can use my title to rest at private homesteads between towns. Bhelen’s not wrong on telling others she’s a living peace treaty._

_“I still have Warden work to finish…” I don’t sound confident right now. This whole thing has warped me. “But… I could leave her at the palace with Alistair until I return…” Alistair may even adore playing Father. It could be practice for when we have our own children. And… if I never carry, then… Audrunn could substitute for them. I don’t see my husband turning down our chance to finally parent._

_Rica nods with a huge, wet smile of relief._

_“How are you and Alistair?” Bhelen has not forgotten my last visit when I cried half my time here._

_I meet his eyes. “He’s well. We’ve made up. It’s still complicated…” I look down at the sleeping, tiny dwarf. “But she’ll have two parents at each home.” A thought of humor crosses my mind upon thinking of my… first husband. “Alistair shaved,” I tell Bhelen._

_“Oh, my.” He chuckles; trying to enjoy humor in a sad moment._

_I look down again, then step in and offer the baby back to Rica. “We’re here for a few days. I’ll take her when I leave. Yes?” I nod. Give this mother more time with this daughter she already misses. And give myself time to requisition dwarven goods to raise the girl around._

_It’s a good thing Alistair wants to redecorate._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	44. Baby Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a village to raise a child. Or, a troupe of Wardens, a mabari, and a King. Tess learns after trial and error friends come in all shapes and sizes, as does having children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Paradise, by Coldplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G4isv_Fylg)  
> [Love or Money, by Kristian Bush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqM0M5GY5AI)

 

_Telling my Wardens we’re all about to be parents is an adventure itself. In my private guest quarters, we gather, including Justice. All I say is“The King is giving us his daughter,” and Sigrun’s face freezes in sympathy while Oghren’s eyes fly wide. He nods and swallows hard drink before explaining to my boys why King Bhelen cannot keep the daughter of his Casteless mistress in Orzammar if he wants her alive. Amidst the busy tattoos on her face, Sigrun points out the Casteless symbol on her cheek: a bold, dark mark which shows through even the black Legion pattern. She tells us they brand babies “so we never forget we’ve always been worthless.”_

_A hideous practice indeed. It compels me that much more to follow through with Rica and Bhelen’s request._

_The next few days feel like a scavenger hunt, and lessons. While Bhelen plays King as if he and Rica never asked me to take their daughter, Rica tells us everything she wants her princess to have. I explain we’ll pick out a nanny for when we must attend things not suited for little girls, and she’ll have her own room. I already plan to remake my current solar; that dreaded room that looks out over the town. It’s large, we can put a gate around the potbelly stove, and it’s right above Alistair’s study. We can fit a listening tube though the floor so we can sit in the study when she sleeps. Come springtime, we can take Audrunn out to my private garden and let her splash in the fountain or run around. We can also arrange protected travel for Rica to visit; a good job for Pádraig. In the meantime, I speak with the royal nannies and make a list of what foods young dwarves eat, how they play, what books to read. I’m sure the old nannies Teagan sent me will be more than thrilled to fashion dresses for this wee thing._

_If I’m honest, I’m almost a wreck inside. I always assumed I’d be ready for a child when the day came; I assumed I’d have that Mother’s Intuition all women are said to have. But now I believe that only happens when one is pregnant first. I had no time to prepare ahead of time, and I never actually took care of my nephew back in the day. I held him, argued with my brother’s wife why I should hold him all the time when I was home. When I visited later, I fed him, then played with him, encouraged him to be silly with me around the castle. But those are Auntie things. I don’t know how to be a_ **mother.**

_How old should they be till I can teach her to use daggers? What if she likes pounding on things with hammers? Paragon Branka began using a forge at age three… what if Audrunn tries to forge our silverware together? Or make weapons from our candlesticks? What if she gets into the toilet room and plays in the chamber pots? Ech. Or gets into the library and rips all our books? Heavens!_

_I don’t quite think I’m ready for this._

_Thank Andraste I’m a Queen. Placing an order for dwarven furniture is nothing unexpected. By mail before, Alistair and I have ordered a share of dwarven ornaments already. Not to mention when we commissioned the dwarven lamp troughs for our palace halls._

_Buying gifts for small children is another matter. We hear whispers among the Commons as we browse. The people know King Bhelen has a Casteless daughter. The people also agree the child needs to leave the palace before she grows up with the idea she’s worth something. It perturbs me. Sigrun and Anders, also. It’s all too similar to what nobles whispered behind my back when I fulfilled Loghain’s contracts. It’s what mages are told; even the ones who helped kill the Archdemon. Sigrun already experienced it. I tell my Wardens to buy what they think children should have; I’ll reimburse their private funds from the royal vault when we return._

_“No, Justice. She’s not old enough for weapons. She can’t even stand yet.” I stare at the possessed dead man holding a shortsword and a small shield._

_My Warden corpse stares back before returning them to the crafter’s stand. “A wooden sword, then.”_

_I now want to make a show of spoiling this dwarven pseudo-daughter of mine. Orzammar can blow kisses to my ass when I leave. I’ve already purchased a cart and commissioned its yokes adjusted to fit our horses. While the furniture will arrive months later when it is made, we’ll need a great deal to work with before that. If I can help it - and I can - this princess will grow up a Princess._

_Nathaniel says it’s high time I do something with all this coin I carry everywhere._

_I also meet with the new Carta leader, Jerrin. In royal chambers, I sit with Bhelen and discuss with Jerrin and his right-hand dwarf Selma the notion of me controlling the lyrium trade. Almost without hesitation, these Carta leaders like the idea; thrill plus profit, and new headquarters. What lyrium I have now will not last forever, but it is enough to work with until the next shipment to the Chantry can be denied. Jerrin says he has “people” who specialize in refining lyrium, who can cause a rapid yet gradual decline in what the Chantry buys. It will take a month to spoil the lyrium saved for the Chantry, but it will hardly be a waste. If my Wardens can train a new Legion within the next business quarter, they can begin clearing a free route to Ortan thaig, and from there Kal’Hirol. Casteless will jump at the chance to earn coin, even more so if they are given free lodging in Ortan thaig. In no time, barricades will erect to keep darkspawn out of the trade route, and Kal’Hirol will be cleaned up. Jerrin no doubt believes nobles in the Diamond quarter already plan to excavate Kal’Hirol - and he encourages Bhelen to approve, for they will bring their own warriors and labor, thus cutting Carta costs - but the contraption door beneath Vigil’s Keep may be part of an old mining route. Mining routes, even in a reclaimed thaig, can stay hidden from nobles with a good lie, or a false contraption door under the pretense of severe darkspawn activity. When the excavation is complete, Kal’Hirol can be repurposed as storage or a refining facility._

_I almost can’t believe my ears. If these dwarves know I secretly want this to secure my vitality to their race and to protect my mage from the Chantry, they don’t care. An accord like this means symbiotic vitality. In order for this to succeed, I need Bhelen and the Carta’s help. For the Carta to get filthy rich and acquire two new thaigs, they need my help. For Bhelen to secure his life and his non-traditional reign, he needs me and the Carta. The Grey Wardens and Ferelden’s King and Queen are now too important for Orzammar to lose contact with._

_Not to mention as Bhelen said: his daughter will be a show to the surface of Orzammar’s alliance with Ferelden._

_Ferelden’s, and no other._

_I may have to include Celene in this lyrium plan of mine to pull this off without potential war down the road. In fact, it may be easier to include Orlais right under the Chantry’s nose. Elves there are more overlooked there than anywhere, and most of them hate how the Chantry’s influence makes life harder for them._

_… And now that I consider elves, I will have to intervene in Zevran’s war on the Crows. The infamous Crows of Antiva are feared through Thedas; despite, as Zevran admitted, it is based mostly on rumor. Crows can infiltrate perfectly almost every attempt. They can be my eyes and ears that side of Thedas, and it will not be unusual for them to travel. For the right price, they can transport or waylay Templars. During the Blight, Master Ignacio told me the Crows saw more value as my ally than enemy; also based off rumor alone… If I step into Antiva City a flaming violet mess, they should still honor that allegiance. I’ll have to figure out something to do with Zevran, though. I cannot have him interfering_

_… Worst case, I can always conscript everyone, and they’ll have no choice._

_Andraste preserve me, this will change the whole world._

_Am I ready for that?_

_I hope I can pull this off. I_ **need** _to._

_The last day in Orzammar is hard. I’ve spent time here and there with Rica while the babe was awake so I’m not a stranger, but today is rough anyway. Baby Audrunn knows something is wrong. Rica can’t stop crying, even when she laughs, and it keeps my own eyes misty. Even Bhelen’s eyes are teary._

_I warn them the Chantry will want her dedicated, but I’ll do my best to teach her dwarven history and to remember the Ancestors. I’ve even bought spare books from the Shaperate. Bhelen doesn’t believe in them, but it is racial history that sets dwarves apart from the rest of the world. He tells me to do what I must to appease governing parties up top._

_Rica begs me not to let her forget about her parents. I can only promise to send a painter here once I return to capture Bhelen and Rica’s image, and send paintings of the baby as she grows. With any luck when I next visit, Alistair and I will arrive with a tiny princess with her own private guard._

_That’s brilliant, actually. The_ **perfect** _job for Pádraig and the elite guard._

 

 

_And here I am. Walking from palace with a bundled babe in my arms. Eyes follow me through the Diamond Quarter and noble banter halts as I walk by. I hope I’m striding tall. With Sigrun and Nathaniel behind me, I hope these tight-assed dwarves know the Queen who saved Orzammar before is making another monumental leap on their grounds. None will speak of it aloud. But they will remember all the same. They will always remember the Queen of Ferelden - the Commander who killed the Archdemon - protects King Bhelen Aeducan._

_I pray I know what I’ve gotten myself into. What I’ve gotten my country into. Maker preserve us._

**Please.**

 

 

 

_Traveling with an infant is exhausting. The first day alone presents challenges we’ve never dealt with before. We’re not yet off Gherlen’s Pass and this small thing already won’t stop shrieking like we’re torturing her. Baby Audrunn doesn’t like the cold nipping her nose. She doesn’t like the horses, or the surface smells. None of us have faces she wants to see. When I think she’s hungry, she starts to suck on her chilled bottle, then shoves it away and wails again. She’s bundled up in leather and furs, she even has her own little seat in front of me in which she can turn around if she wishes. But nothing satisfies her._

_Anders has the sense to warm a bottle when she keeps pushing them away. Mother’s milk is warm, he says as his hand glows orange with a weak fire spell; I almost can’t hear him over the baby. He shakes the heated bottle, pinches the rubber nipple on his wrist to make sure it lets milk out, then leans over. Audrunn screams and wiggles with a stiff torso, tiny face red and strained, but as soon as Anders drips warm milk in her mouth, all falls quiet._

_So quiet so sudden all eyes fall on us as if something tragic has happened._

_Tired eyes droop as Audrunn drinks like she’s thirsted for years. Anders smiles, all but melting all over her as he adjusts the tiny person to snuggle against me._

_“See? Sometimes it’s the little things.” Stars glitter his eyes when he glances at me. He moves my arms around her, adjusting my reigns so I can control my horse and cradle the dwarven princess. Propped up on a cushion of furs, boxed in from her seat and my arms, her limbs curl in as Anders tucks a blanket around her. A tiny hand rests on my chest as she drinks. And Anders looks completely at home._

_He wants a baby. I study him as he smiles down still, and I realize he hasn’t tried with me for_ **my** _sake. He’s tried for_ **his.** _Anders wants a family of his own; to do things the way his father should have. He adores babies without a doubt. I don’t need to ask to know it’s true._

_“What?” He searches my face._

_“I’ve never seen you so sparkly before,” I tell him._

_He breaks out in a grin with a quiet laugh and sits back. “Babies are fun.”_

_“And noisy,” I add._

_Anders chuckles again. “That’s because they can’t ask for what they need. It can be tough learning how they ask. Every baby I’ve delivered has a different cry for hunger and food and sleep.” He still beams. His eyes lock on mine with confidence. “They’re a great perk of being a doctor.”_

_Oghren makes a noise behind us. “What you think, Nate? Pink or purple?”_

_“For what?” my cousin asks._

_“The apron and bonnet I’m going to buy for Anders,” Oghren says. Anders grins back with a chuckle._

_“Pink,” Nate looks over in complete innocence. “Like the flowers outside the library window. But you’ll need to buy one with lace ruffles.”_

_“Fuchsia, huh?” Oghren approves. I can’t help a giggle._

_“Ooh, and those matching shoes with buckles. But the ruffles should be white so we can see them better,” Sigrun jumps in._

_“Good idea.” Oghren nods. “Can’t have an unfashionable nanny Warden.”_

_Anders chuckles again. His cheeks redden when he meets my eyes. “I might actually wear that,” he whispers._

_“You’d wear it in a heartbeat,” I keep my voice low. A giggle scrunches his face as he leans in with a quick kiss._

_“But only for you,” he adds. He glances back once more. “Not a chance I’ll wear that in front of Oghren. I’ve seen those dresses, they don’t have backs.”_

 

 

_Not all bouts of crying are consoled so easy, though. Sigrun is the one who remembers to check Audrunn’s diaper; she calls it a nappy. We stop so often, we might as well be walking backwards at this rate. Passing the babe to Anders so I can dismount my horse wakes her, and passing her back up makes her scream all over again. There are a few times Audrunn sits quiet to look around as we ride, but as soon as she remembers this place is not home and the woman holding her is not her mother, her voice strains and her face turns red till tears seep out. Warm bottles are the quickest way to console her, but as night approaches and her vision limits more, sometimes not even warm milk helps._

_The first night we found shelter at a small farm. The mistress had little room inside her cottage, but their horses were away with the lord and his sons, and it worked out better for us to camp in the barn. Anders built a fire at the entrance, and while the others cleared space or covered the floor with hay, the mistress and her daughter started fresh soup and hare. I feel a superior nudge placed us here, for after taking tea inside where I insisted on paying rent, the mistress knew right away what baby Audrunn wailed for. She showed me an easy way to change and clean diapers, how to make tight swaddling folds, and how to roll extra quilts to tuck around the baby for comfort. With a quick snip and a knot of yarn, she also made a plush velvet ball for Audrunn to cuddle. By the time she finished sharing her tricks, our fussy dwarven princess was snug and drifting off._

_They recognized me; or they heard one of my Wardens say my name when they fetched us for breakfast. The mistress sent us off that morning with full bellies and a cloth doll for Audrunn; large button eyes and a bold yarn smile. She tucked the doll under Audrunn’s arm, then dared a glance and curtsied. “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” she said before backing up for our horses to pass._

_I wonder just how many people now wait for the scar-less Queen to ride past their door._

_I don’t fail to notice she also assumes Audrunn is my own._

_The second night, there are no homes nearby. Travel took too long with all the stops we made, so come sundown, we have no choice but to pause our journey and make do. Anders clears snow and moisture from a selection of ground with a firestorm, then he sets a glyph that blows like a balloon over the clearing. The glyph alone takes minutes of concentration and summoning, but it will last until he takes it down. I can’t say how impressed I am, and how slightly resentful I am Wynne or Morrigan did not do this during the Blight. Inside the dome feels more like an autumn day, cool and pleasant without the chill. It even blocks snowfall, and the smoke from our fire drifts right out. A glyph of Shelter; it fits all our tents and horses, even, with walking room. A survival trick, Anders explains, but not one widely known, as the Chantry doesn’t want mages getting any more ideas about escaping. “Utterly useless in combat,” he says. “But incredibly useful in poor weather.”_

_Yet even this convenient dome of comfort he’s made doesn’t stop Audrunn from fussing. She wakes every few hours, more often for a diaper change than anything. The second time she wakes, it feels like I’d only begun sleeping again. I’m so tired I have trouble keeping my eyes open, and catch myself nodding off a third time with a naked baby bum still before me. Anders comes to the rescue again with a quiet chuckle and tells me to lie back down. I protest, of course; I killed the Archdemon, I can change a diaper in the middle of the night._

_… Can’t I?_

_But when I awake again to bright winter sun on my face and Anders’ shoulder at my cheek, it… seems I can’t._

_Not even Heroes can keep up with babies._

_Most awkward in its own way, perhaps, is stopping at Highever castle._

_“Where in the Maker’s name did you get a dwarven baby?” My brother stares at me like he dreads the answer._

_Tired and cold, I glare at him as my feet drag me by. “I ran out of gold at Gherlen’s Pass, so I slaughtered a family of merchants. All I found was this baby and silk slippers. Both should fetch a price in Denerim.”_

_My brother grimaces a smile. “For the Crown’s sake, I hope Her Majesty is jesting.”_

_“For Highever’s sake, I hope the Teyrn is, too.”_

_“Glad to see you’re well, sister!” Fergus calls out after me._

_I’m still upset his interrogation months ago caused my first miscarriage._

 

 

_Home at last. At least time and half traveling with the baby, though I reckon I’ve lost proper count for lack of rest. I’ve never been so glad to see Vigil’s Keep._

_I miss my bed. And a full night’s sleep._

_Audrunn has finally warmed up to some of us. She likes Anders best, and she likes touching Sigrun’s tattoos, but she favors feeding time in my arms, bundled up like a changing caterpillar. Just two days ago, she began reach up when I fed her. She touched my chin, then my mouth when I spoke. I found myself telling a ridiculous, mild tale of my adventures during the Bight, but she seemed to enjoy it. She reached up and stuck her tiny, chubby fingers in my mouth to feel my teeth, and I couldn’t shake her off. Hoping to keep her fingers away, I nibbled, only for it to rebound on me. A short pause, then Audrunn burst with a laugh far too big for her little body. She stuck her fingers back in my mouth so I would nibble again, and her large laugh echoed once more. Like that, a game was created, and I caught myself laughing with her every round. When I remembered I’m a Commander with a handful of Wardens to command, I found the others relieved the crying might be over and Anders staring with sparkling adoration. Audrunn has wanted to play with me every waking moment since. Every morning I wake to tiny fingers in my mouth._

_Even back at The Keep, rest is still unobtainable. Seneschal Varel greets with unpleasant news._

_Of course he does._

_Darkspawn attacks have not waned since we cleared Kal’Hirol. To make matters worse, bandits have exploited the fear of the citizens. Local farmers are marching, spotted only this morning. They are three days away; no doubt, Varel says, to demand aid against the growing chaos._

_Of course they are._

_But I still have a dwarven baby to drop off in Denerim before I can handle a mob of scared farmers, bandits, and more darkspawn._

_At least I can sleep in my bed tonight._

 

 

_It doesn’t feel like we slept at all. Between Anders and some maids, I managed half a day’s snooze, but it was broken. Anders needed sleep, we needed to eat and feed the baby, needed to soothe the baby in this new environment. I needed time alone in my Safe Place past the gardens. Anders and I needed time alone with each other. Two and half days at The Keep, but it feels like we only slept a few hours._

_The others stayed behind again. Anders, me, baby Audrunn, our horses and two hounds. At night, Anders melts the snow and sets the shelter rune again. While I make a fire and set our tent, he holds the baby, lighting his hand in a healing spell to grab her attention. He giggles when she gums his glowing fingers._ **I** _laugh when he pulls his finger back with a yelp and says, with the biggest grin, she drew blood._

 _Each time Audrunn laughs, my hound jumps around and thinks it means she’s ready to play with him. Po doesn’t understand she’s not old enough to run and play.  According to him: she has legs and open eyes, therefore she must be old enough. She reminds Po of a fluffy winter rabbit; and Anders begins calling her Bunny. My hound thinks dwarven milk smells funny, but he likes how_ **she** _smells and he understands we’re protecting her._

_It doesn’t stop him from trying to play with her._

_Denerim’s gates comes into sight later than we’re used to on the Anderfels horses. The last time we were here, I drank Anders’ phylactery to free him from Chantry chains. I also made up with my husband last time._

_Pádraig meets me outside the palace district gates as we slow our horses to a stop; Po has already run off to play. Pádraig’s mouth opens, but noise from the baby in front of me cuts him off._

_“Where’s Alistair?” I ask. Pádraig hesitates with his mouth agape as Anders reaches up for Audrunn. His brow furrows in perplexity, locked on the baby as if I’d brought a baby dragon instead._

_“Holding court…” Pádraig’s eyes moves with Audrunn, even while Anders shifts her to the other arm to hoist a bag over his shoulder._

_He doesn’t think I birthed this baby… does he? I’m beginning to understand Anders’ frustration about the Chantry not teaching knights puberty and reproduction._

_Stepping foot inside the palace reminds me Audrunn isn’t the only baby here: Anders says he’ll check on Anora while I’m meet with Alistair. He nods at the look on my face. “She was due two weeks ago,” he reminds me._

_Two babies in the palace. And neither of them are the King’s._

_“Right.” I nod also. Almost more information than I can take in at once. “Good luck.”_

_Anders chuckles. “You, too.” He gives me a smile and squeezes the back of my arm. “I’ll stick around tonight. It’s about to be very busy in here with two babies.”_

_Then it’s just me and Audrunn. Bundled up in a sling that almost hides her - as a large furry mound at my front - awhile she drinks a bottle. I stare at her for a moment before moving my feet. I hope Alistair takes this well._

_I feel my husband well before I open the door to the Landsmeet Hall. There is so much noise, though, not even I can hear the door. Alistair sits on the throne, polished crown on his head. He leans on the armrest with a fist at his cheek, unaware I’ve opened the door. Two men with sour, displeased crinkles on their faces argue before him; I recognize one as Bann Franderel’s steward. I share a glance with Audrunn, whose eyes are wide a she listens to the new noise._

_“Alistair!” I call, standing only half in the doorway._

_My husband’s fist drops as his head flies. A smile tests the corner of his mouth, hope and relief on his face. No one present for court seems to have noticed me. I slip an arm through and beckon Alistair with my finger._

_He glances afore him, nods at me, then stands tall. His court cloak un-wrinkles to the floor like velvet falls. “Her Majesty, the Queen!” Alistair needs exert himself little to bounce his voice off the walls. Almost at once, argument pauses and all court attendees look in the direction of his arm. ‘Your Majesty’ chimes like a male choir with a wave of bows; brief formal acknowledgement when men are otherwise busy._

_I_ **hate** _when people announce me._

_Alistair hands court to his new Seneschal and walks straight for me. Audrunn in my arms reaches up when her little noises don’t get my attention. “No no, Bunny, not now. Please?” I move her tiny hand away from my mouth and back in the sling, but she is strong. When I look up again, Alistair frowns in curiosity at the bulge in my arms. My breath almost catches when he meets my eyes. “We need to speak. Alone,” I tell him as he steps up._

_My husband pulls the sling open and peers in. Audrunn’s eyes go wide and she gives a noise of pleasant surprise._

_Beards; of course. Maybe she’s more like me than I thought. I bet he looks like a proper dwarf in her eyes._

_“I_ **see** _that…” Alistair meets my eyes. I can’t read his thoughts right now for the life of me._

 _Andraste,_ **please** _let him take this well._

_There are no words while we rush to his study. Once in, I lock both doors and Alistair opens the window drapes wider. Then I sit with heavy breath and remove the sling to free the baby, who is now accustomed to the world changing around me._

_“Do I want to know why you have a baby?” Alistair asks. I look over to see him pouring his hardest drink already._

_Audrunn makes noise of question as I sit her up. Not a quick enough look around her new environment. As soon as I take the bottle from her mouth, she leans forward with a grin and sticks her fingers in my mouth. I sigh again before indulging her with a nibble; the noise of a happy babe is unmistakable in this room right now._

_With another deep breath, I stand and face my husband. “This is Audrunn Aeducan.” I hope he remembers how the caste system works._

_Alistair freezes and his eyes fly to mine. “Aeducan?” he echoes._

_I nod. “Bhelen and Rica’s daughter.”_

_“Dau...” His mouth closes as he looks at the chubby babe on my hip. He presses a forefinger to his mouth; a habit formed from holding questionable court. “Do they know you have her?” he asks. He aims that forefinger at me._

_“Yes. They asked me to take her.” I pause. “You might want to sit.”_

_Alistair nods, eyes drifting, and he downs his drink before settling his bum. I push a chair in front of his and sit. Audrunn looks around like she doesn’t know which shiny thing to grab first. With another breath - this is harder than I worked in my head - I tell my husband everything that happened in Orzammar the moment I asked where Rica was. Alistair watches me, furrowed in concentration. When I tell him they mean for us to raise her, his brows shoot up and he stares at the wee girl._

_“It’s why it took so long returning,” I explain. “We’ve had to stop every few hours, and we detoured each night for proper shelter. And she didn’t really like me until five days ago.” I shake my head. Almost pathetic when it took us sixteen days to reach Vigil’s Keep; compared to the twelve at most the North Road takes in snow. “Now she won’t stop sticking her fingers in my mouth.”_

_Alistair searches me for a moment before he puffs a laugh and a crooked smile moves his beard._

_In the pause when he thinks over our new situation, I realize I only now have time to really see him. His beard wasn’t so full last time, but now it’s almost like he never shaved. His hair has grown longer; now at that awkward length where it’s too short to tie back but long enough to want it off his neck. His face moves in a cautious smile as he reaches out, though as Audrunn grabs his finger and tries to gnaw, caution fades and his smile grows._

_I miss him. When he’s not with me or when we fight, I forget how beautiful he is. I miss his smile._

_I lean over and shove my face to his before I remember a baby sits between us. Alistair’s breath catches and he touches my face with another kiss and a groan. All at once, my body aches for him. I miss him so much. Right now, I regret we spent the past month apart._

_But a third kiss reminds us Audrunn is here. A wail of irritation fills the room as tiny arms struggle for room to move. Alistair chuckles as our lips part. His hand and eyes stay with me till my seat takes me out of reach; he always said I can’t hide how I feel when desire strikes. Audrunn grunts and reaches up. I look at her, little fingers stuffed in my mouth, now wishing I’d left her… with Anders. So I can be with my actual husband right now. Audrunn makes a noise of demand and pushes her fingers further in. Alistair gives another chuckle. I have no choice but nibble to satisfy her; if I don’t, she’ll keep shoving till I gag._

_“I guess this is practice, huh?” Eyes on the baby, his smile slants to one side. “We’ll have to time…” he wets his mouth, then looks at me again. “- doing things together again. Until nonspecific parties have fallen asleep.” He smiles at his own tease with his eyes back on Audrunn._

_It shouldn’t be amusing, but it is. I understand now why nannies are_ **needed,** _not only desired._

_“I assume they’ll want us to bring her to visit from time to time?” My husband’s eyes remain on the tiny dwarf._

_“They didn’t say so, but I think they would like it. I promised to send a portrait every year. And send a painter to them, so we have a portrait to hang in her room,” I remember. “And I said I’d arrange for Rica to visit. We don’t need to do that right away, though.” I shake my head. And remember there is something else that cannot wait. “Alistair,” it comes out a sigh. “I have to leave her here for a while.”_

_“What? You’re leaving already?” my husband searches me._

_“I can stay for a day or two, but-” another sigh takes me. “Nothing in Kal’Hirol made a difference.”_

_“What?” His eyes reflect dread. He thinks I mean us._

_I shake my head at his unspoken fear. “Nothing we did down there stopped the darkspawn. Amaranthine has gotten worse, not better. It’s like we didn’t destroy a nest.”_

_“Are you serious? We didn’t dent them at all?” He leans back in his chair in disbelief. It means he almost died for nothing. “It’s getting as bad as the Blight.”_

_My head bobs in agreement. “And Varel says raiders have begun staking ground. They seem to wait for people to flee the darkspawn, then they move in. It’s bad in the city also, only there are more guards on duty. The soldiers we sent to patrol the farms are too far spread.”_

_Alistair nods with his eyes closed for a second. “I’ll send troops out.” Then he shakes his head, and reaches over to fill two glasses, this time. “I suppose any couriers sent for help were killed.”_

_“My guess, also,” I nod, before remembering another problem._ **“And,”** _I wince, “he said farmers were marching toward The Keep. That was tw- no, three days ago…” I feel my eyes bulge with a scoff. “They should be there by now. Maybe I_ **can’t** _stay here a day or two. I hope Garavel’s men can hold them back. Or Oghren and Justice can._ **Andraste,** _I can’t keep my head around all this anymore.”_

_Alistair turns in his chair and holds out a glass. Audrunn perks up when she sees him drinking from a matching glass and reaches for mine. My husband pushes my glass out of reach on his desk, shaking his head. “Ah-ah-ah.” He pauses, then finds my eyes. “What’s the legal drinking age for dwarves?” he plays._

_My laugh comes out a snort; my husband smiles. “Probably_ **six,”** _I joke back._

_“You’re not old enough,” he scolds the baby in a playful tone. Alistair pauses, then downs his drink and holds out his arms. “Let me take her so you can drink.”_

_My eyes zip to him. I didn’t expect he’d be so willing to parent this child who isn’t ours. More than she’s frustrated she can’t drink from a cup, Audrunn is distracted by the buttons on Alistair’s cuffs. She doesn’t complain when I hand her over._

_I expected I’d have to teach him how to hold this baby. Alistair already knows how, though. His brows sink a little with her full weight in his hands, but he otherwise looks comfortable holding a babe._

_Alistair holds her up when her leg kick and push. Her tiny, chubby legs stretch and kick more till her feet find his thighs below. Legs ever busy, but her eyes remain locked on his shiny cufflinks. “She’s heavy,” he remarks._

_“Yeah,” I laugh. Learning how to balance with her on my hip was a long lesson. While her back is turned, I grab my glass and drink._

_But I was not quick enough. Audrunn starts fussing, and when I raise my eyes, she’s staring at my draining glass and reaching. Not for me, for my glass._

_Alistair chuckles. “Drinking must be in their blood.” He nods to the bottle I set down and sits her on his lap. “Will you hand me that, please?” Audrunn is not satisfied with her bottle, though. She wants a cup. “Does she drink out of a cup yet?”_

_“I haven’t tried because we’ve been on the road,” I say. “But Rica said she should start eating solid food in a month or so. Her teeth are growing in. No, actually,_ **half** _a month, now.” I still can’t believe it took so long to return home._

_Alistair watches her in thought, then grabs another glass behind him. “What’s in this?” He looks at me while he shakes the bottle a little._

_“Rica’s milk.”_

**“Her** _milk?” he echoes._

_“Yeah,” I nod. “She sent a month’s worth of bottles. The chest has ice runes all over it. It keeps them quite cool,” I insist. “Apparently it doesn’t spoil like that.”_

_“They can do that?” He examines the lid till at last he twists. It comes off with a faint_ **suulch** _. “Sounds incredibly useful. And she likes it cold?_ **This** _one isn’t cold, though.”_

_“Anders heats each one we pull out.” A sigh falls almost silent and I take another drink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to mention him.”_

_Alistair shakes his head, only glancing while he pours the milk into a bottle. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted it.”_

_That doesn’t make my situation feel more acceptable, though._

_My husband sniffs the milk, and again while his eyes dart. He’s quite skilled at keeping a baby from reaching too far. “It smells sweet.” He watches as earnest little fingers pull his hand close too fast. “Slow down, little one.”_

_“We call her Bunny,” I say._

_“Bunny?” his eyes fleck to me in amusement._

_I shrug, watching his steady hand tip the glass ever so slight for Audrunn. “She reminds Po of a bunny with a winter coat. He kept trying to make her hop away so they could play. We’ve called her Bunny since.”_

_He grins at me then the tiny dwarf who coughs from drinking too much too quick. “She drinks like Oghren.”_

_I can’t help my laugh. “I said the same thing.”_

_Alistair watches her try to drink again, this time tipping the glass slower._ **“Your** _milk was sweet,” he says after a moment. I search him._

_“My milk?” I’ve never lactated before._

_He hesitates. “In the Fade. After Griff was born.” My husband nods, looking at the baby again. “I remember drinking it.”_

_“You drank my --?” It sounds too strange right now, even after all that’s happened since I became Commander. I can’t even say it._

_He smiles, not quite embarrassed, not quite proud. But also both. “Not from a bottle. I drank it when we… did romantic adult things in our bed,” he says. His eyes move up like he dares himself to peek at me. “You threatened to tell_ **Griff** _on me.”_

_I did not mean to snort into my whiskey._

_Alistair licks the corner of his mouth with a satisfied smirk, eyes back on the baby. “Are we supposed to raise her as our own?”_

_“I… suppose. Ours, but with two other parents who live abroad.” I haven’t thought much about this part. I’ve been so busy trying to keep her happy._

_“Practice then.” Alistair nods. He’s not joking. Trying to find time to ourselves with this eager babe will be a challenge. By the time we…_ **if** _we ever have our own, I hope we will have mastered parenting tricks._

 _His fingertips rub fine baby hair. With a thick dribble of milk down her chin and clothes - thank Andraste for bibs - Audrunn looks up and tries to push the cup to Alistair’s mouth. Proud and excited and wanting to share her incredible new experience. I bite back a grin as Alistair smiles and shakes his head. “Oh, no thank you,” he tells our new child. “That is_ **all** _yours.” My husband’s eyes find me again over the baby not quite able to drink anything out of a glass._

_Warm, adoring, happy. As if we’ve always had this baby in our lives. As if he doesn’t care it’s not ours; not his. My husband looks content right now._

_I miss him looking at me like this._

_Maybe this is how we have children after all?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	45. Just Like Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What seems like the perfect start to their first day as parents deceives them all with a simple misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> [Love or Money, by Kristian Bush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqM0M5GY5AI)  
> [Breath of Life, by Florence & the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d58VJ-sC1uY)

 

_ Anora’s baby is one-third of Audrunn. I peeked in with Audrunn on my hip to find the smallest person in history at Anora’s bosom. She did a double-take at my new baby, and I stared in disbelief at hers. Before I could let Audrunn see the other baby, Anders came and whisked her away, saying it was best to keep newborns from other races for two months when natural resistances formed. He glanced out to the hall, leaned in and kissed my cheek while he took Audrunn, whispered “I love you,” then whisked away. When I turned around, Anora was cooing at the tiny thing that wasn’t even as long as her arms. _

_ “You had your baby.” I sound amazed. _

_ Anora chuckles, bracing her tiny babe and laying it against her shoulder. “I did. And  _ **you** _ had one. That isn’t yours, is it?” She nods towards the empty doorway. Circles under her eyes suggest she’s had as little sleep as I’ve had of late. _

_ “Audrunn? No.” I shake my head. “She’s the daughter of the dwarven King.” I tiptoe over as if my full footsteps will wake her child. _

_ “Does the dwarven king know his daughter is missing?” She smiles, though. _

_ “Andraste, why does everyone think I stole her?” I huff. “Yes, he knows, and she’s not missing. She lives here now.” I can’t help my amazement at Anora’s tiny baby. “Her mother is Casteless. They didn’t want her branded.” _

_ “Ah.” A hand rubs and pats the tiny back of her tiny baby. “Their Caste system always seemed a bit superstitious to me.” _

_ “It’s utterly stupid. When was he born?” I ask, still enraptured from here. _

_ “She.” She rubs and presses up along her child’s back. Two daughters in the palace at once?  _ **“She** _ was born thirteen days ago.” A burp far too loud for such a being echoes in the room and makes us giggle. Anora sparkles like the night sky as she brings her daughter back down to the bed before her. “I named her after my mother. Celia.” _

_ Words do not exist right now. I stand at the side of the bed peering down as Anora holds little arms and brings a kiss to tiny fingers. She’s so small. Little eyes are steel blue and have a hard time staying open. Each time her eyes open, she looks around like she’s trying figure out where she is. Tiny hands open as short, lanky arms can’t controls themselves. As soon as Anora puts a finger in her daughter’s palm, little Celia’s fist closes. _

_ “Tesslyn?” It takes me a moment to realize Anora is speaking to me. When I turn my head, she’s staring with a small smile. “Would you like to hold her?” she asks. _

_ Hold this tiny thing? “I’ve… never held a baby this small before.” _

_ “It’s not hard.” She smiles like I’m being silly. “You support her head and little bottom, that’s all.” _

_ I look to the baby, then back, then back and forth again. Then nod. Anora gives a giggle. _

_ She pats the bed next to her. “Sit here.” _

_ Holding my nephew for the first time was a life-changing experience. Holding Audrunn for the first time was; as was the moment she became my friend, not just a job. Holding Anora’s baby is another momentous event for me. I almost don’t even feel it. _

_ Her. Almost don’t feel her. Not an it. _

_ Heavens, this tiny thing is so small it almost doesn’t seem possible she’s human. _

_ So small she almost doesn’t have weight. I reckon my daggers weight more than little Celia. Her head is not bigger than a winter melon, her little nose not more than a button. The tiniest, most perfect little mouth sits on the face of this new person like it was crafted just for her and saved aside until she came into creation. With her head in the crook of my elbow, Celia’s teeny bum rests in my palm. Little legs without muscle yet rest on my other arm. The world stops when she grabs my finger; so tight I can’t retract. Small gray eyes widen to look around, turning the tiny head in my elbow. She’s… perfect. So small and so… just perfect. _

_ I don’t know any other words to do this tiny being justice.  _ **Perfect.**

_ I want one. I want one of my own. I want to feel it kick in my belly, and I want to hold my own child in my arms like this. _

_ Andraste, may I hold my own baby like this? How can I get my womb to work so I can sit like this with my own child? _

_ Anora next to me giggles again and tells me to breathe. _

_ I think she was on to something when she asked if men envy woman’s power to grow people. To think such tiny, fragile creatures grow into tall, mighty warriors who fell dragons and lead countries… There is great power in creation. _

_ I think the whole world ought to feel jealous. _

_ I do. _

 

 

_ Everyone stared at me during supper, even Anders who makes a point most visits to avoid Alistair. I couldn’t get an answer from anyone other “Nothing, Your Majesty”. When Anora joined us for dessert, even she stared, and she hasn’t seen me eat since we were children. I don’t know why they should want to stare. I’ve had little sleep for three weeks, lack of proper meals for the same time, and I came from Orzammar where they serve a  _ **lot** _ of mushrooms and nug and not a lot else. Everything tasted incredible tonight; though that could be the stamina potions kicking in too late. Except the spiced mead. And the bread pudding. And the roasted persimmon with raisin glaze. And the garlic bread. I had to have the staff take those away, I couldn’t stand it. I think eating dwarven food made me over-sensitive to surface spices. A shame, too, because I normally can’t get enough of fruit and pie spices. Tea didn’t sound appetizing either. I don’t remember if this happened during the Blight, but we also almost starved to death then; all of us ate almost everything in sight when we we had food again. But no one at supper tonight told me why they stared. Truly is a shame. Fired mushrooms with oranges and snowberry jam are  _ **fantastic** _ together, particularly drizzled with sweet cream and sprinkled with salted trout eggs. A sliver of chocolate after each bite is  _ **heavenly.** _ They could have eaten with me instead of stared, there was plenty for all of us. _

_ In all do respect, I blame my time abroad for my strange eating habits, during and before the Blight. I’ve acquired tastes most people don’t have. My nephew used to giggle when I ate. _

_ Alistair still stares, now. I keep swirling the wine in my glass. Rivaini white, though I never realized how good this was till tonight. The first time I tried it, I was sixteen, and then, I used it to mask the smell of lyrium on my breath. It wasn’t a tasty drink back then. Tonight it’s wonderful, though. Each time I swirl it, it brings the scent back up to my nose. I may look silly sniffing wine, but I can’t help it. It’s so much more fragrant than I gave it credit for. _

_ “How many stamina potions did you take?” Alistair smiles at me in the firelight. We’re in our room for the night. _

**Our** _ room. It’s almost strange to think that again. _

_ The nannies Teagan sent for me when I became Queen have baby Audrunn for the night. It’s a pleasant change. I hope to get a full night’s sleep for once. Stamina potions do something odd to me after a dozen or so, and I had well over that count the first day with the baby. _

_ “None since I arrived,” I answer. _

_ “Since you arrived,” he echoes. His smile grows. “How strong was it?” _

_ “Strong enough to keep me upright on my gigantic horse.” I can’t help a giggle, even as I try to sip. _

_ Alistair’s smile breaks into a grin with a chuckle. “Like the ones we took during the Blight, then.” _

_ “More or less.” I smirk through another drink, then can’t help a sigh. This ripe fruit beneath my nose… Andraste, it’s perfect. _

_ “Should I leave you two alone, then?” he teases as I keep sniffing. _

_ Laughter bubbles up like shaken champagne. “Prickly tonight, aren’t we?” _

_ His smile leans to one side. “Well, if that wine would stop hoarding my wife, I could show you just how right you are.” _

_ “Oh ho!” I laugh; my voice echoes. “Are you jealous? Of the wine?” I grin at him. _

_ “I will never answer that. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He suppresses his grin with a hard smirk and shakes his head. _

_ I miss this. I miss playing with him, flirting. Two silly lovers wilting with the day with nothing but each other to attend to. _

_ It’s not long before he replaces the bottle in my hands. I miss him. I miss his body. Warm, solid. He smells like sage and orange tonight. So large it doesn’t take much for his body to wrap around mine. His lips are always soft, his beard and mustache always where they tickle me most, making me shiver right in. He makes my breath catch when he dips a hand down my trousers. _

_ My husband always knows where to touch me. _

 

 

_ My eyes don’t want to open. I hear Alistair’s voice, and the unmistakable pleasantly-surprised Audrunn. I feel a tiny hand on my mouth, then hear Alistair giggle and hush, and he takes her away. Small hands slap on something and Alistair’s whispering. But my eyes don’t want to open. _

_ One more hour, that’s all I want. Babies understand sleeping in. Don’t they? I hope so. I feel like I could sleep forever. _

_ Another noise cracks my eyes. The room is brighter. Audrunn’s familiar babble sounds off. Did I fall asleep again? I slept through baby fingers in my mouth and her large laugh? _

_ My husband’s large frame sits near me on the bed, and a very short person with a mess of bond curls sits before him. Alistair is interrupted by a turning page. With tiny thuds and a chuckle, he entertains our newest family member. “Clop clop clop clop,” he says. He clops faster and feigns loss of control, then makes a noise like screeching cart wheels. “Oof!” he slaps his hand on the book. Audrunn’s rich laugh breaks out in our room. _

_ I close my eyes as a smile spreads, and nestle deeper in my pillow. I’m glad they get along. Maybe she’ll stop shoving her fingers in my mouth all the time now. _

_ When I peek again, Alistair’s smiling at me. Audrunn slaps the book with both hands and makes an “opp opp” noise like my husband’s, unaware I’m awake. _

_ Alistair reaches over with his free hand and moves hair from my face. Beaming at me like I’m the sweetest thing. His fingers feel like summer sunshine on my skin. _

_ I miss him looking at me like this. _

_ I grab his hand and bring it to my lips, and keep it to my face so he can’t take it away. Calluses on his fingers to the base but a soft palm, like always; from using his sword and shield. Alistair’s long fingers glide across my skin as I stretch my legs and hug one of his. And a little voices perks up. Audrunn’s bouncy strawberry head turns to see my leg, then with another noise of question, she wiggles and leans till she can see me. A huge smile lights up her face in an instant. _

_ And my heart feels like dripping honey now. I’ve never seen anyone so excited to see me before. _

_ “Good morning, Bunny,” I say. My voice still sounds sleepy. _

_ Our chunky little dwarf leans farther over to nestle her head like always when she’s happy. This time Alistair’s robe hides her face. With a noise of question, she grabs his robe and sits up to see me again. _

_ Alistair grins and ruffles her hair. “She’s been waiting for you to wake up. I don’t let her stick her fingers in my mouth.” _

_ I can’t help a giggle. “I felt her fingers.” Alistair giggles this time. _

_ Audrunn turns and puts an arm over Alistair’s leg. Oh, no, she’s coming to sticking her fingers in my mouth! Alistair laughs again as I throw the blankets over my head. _

_ “What are you doing?” he asks. _

_ “She wants to shove her fingers in my mouth again,” my voice is muffled by the quilt. “If she can’t see me--” Cut off by the one and only. A small hand pushes on my face through the covers, muffling my voice. My husband laughs again. _

_ Audrunn makes another noise of question and pushes her hand down again, grabbing my nose with the blanket. Ow; I need to trim her nails. Before she can yank the covers off me, I shove it down and pop my eyes wide, puckering my lips; a face that makes her laugh every time. Sure enough, after a quick pause, Audrunn’s head tosses back in a hearty laugh. But her hand reaches for my mouth like laughing was a ruse all along. Clever little shit. My own giggle shakes my chest as I hide my head again. This time, she’s on to me. A hesitant laugh, then when I don’t come out of the covers myself she grabs and pulls. I pop my eyes and lips again to make her laugh, then hide once more. _

_ “I can’t tell who’s having more fun,” Alistair teases. _

_ I giggle in the darkness of my quilt. “Clop Clop Clop,” I retort, peeking at him with one eye. My husband laughs with glitter in his eyes. _

_ And as if on cue, Audrunn claps her hands upon my head. “Op Op!” Alistair’s laugh echoes around us and I giggle again under small palms. I shove the blanket off again with wide eyes, sitting up. Sweet little Audrunn laughs so hard she almost falls over backwards. _

_ Andraste, this little thing is so cute! Unable to help my own laugh, I lean in and pucker my lips for a noisy kiss at the corner of her mouth. Her tiny mouth and grand laugh are so precious. _

_ Even when she shoves her fingers in my mouth again. _

_ Alistair grins when I fail to hide a smile. _

_ Only when Alistair tempts her away with her bottle do I have time to stretch, though that alone is a chore with not but the blanket on me. “How late did I sleep?” I look toward the bright windows. Snow reflects sunshine like a blasted lake. _

_ “Longer than I expected with the baby poking your mouth.” Alistair nods at Audrunn. I can’t help a giggle. “I’m glad you slept. You look better than yesterday.” _

_ “I’ve been on those sodding stamina potions since we left Orzammar.” Now sitting still again, another yawn takes me. “What were you looking at?” I look at my husband. “The clop clop thing?” _

_ As if on cue again, Audrunn pats Alistair’s hand and attempts “op op” with the bottle in her mouth. _

_ My husband grins down at her with a soft laugh. “You said it,” he tells her. “Clop clop clop-” I watch two fingers move like legs. Then he stops them on a sudden with the screech I heard earlier, and he shakes his hand like a man losing balance. “Aaahhh!” he whispers a yell before crashing with sound effects. Audrunn laughs so hard she almost chokes on her milk. Alistair sits her up and pats her back before looking at me again. His whole face shines right now. _

_ He really enjoys this. Doesn’t he? He enjoys playing Father. It’s not just a… Fade fetish. _

_ “I showed her a book of Ferelden,” he answers at last, still sparkling. “A  _ **picture** _ book of the country. The  _ **best** _ kind of book.” _

_ I think I better understand his desire for those Fade dreams, now. His desire to be Father. For him, having a child to look after means an excuse to be a carefree kid. Something he never got to experience in his own childhood. _

_ Neither of us were normal children. _

_ There is something quite pure in the way Audrunn plays, though. She makes you forget you’re supposed to be an adult with responsibilities and people to command. She makes you forget you’re a trained killer and slay monsters for a living.   _

_ “Lessons? This early?” it comes out a chuckle. _

_ Alistair laughs. “Unless you count mid-morning tea as early now, no.” _

_ Void! “I slept that long?” I feel my face droop. This is mortifying. I  _ **never** _ sleep this late. _

_ “It’s fine. You needed it, love,” my husband assures me. “We’ve been sitting here reading, and clopping.” He glances down at Audrunn. She takes her bottle out of her mouth and studies the nipple. Chubby little fingers pluck the rubber top as she babbles to herself. “She’s already familiar with birds, horses, and mabari.” Alistair looks at me with a nod. Another smile spreads on my face. She remembers those from the journey here. “I showed her where her first adventure took her,” he says. With a most innocent facade, he holds up two fingers like a person walking; it’s hard fighting a smile right now. “The clop clop was my little rider. He doesn’t have a horse because I only have five fingers, and I can’t fold them into two different creatures at once-” A stifled giggle shakes my shoulders. My husband grins for me. “-but Audrunn thinks he’s very funny.” _

_ It’s damn hard to bite back a grin. My husband - the King - talks about this like he speaks not of playing with an infant, but like he’s reporting on staff progress. Serious as he can be while holding back a grin. _

_ We gaze for a moment. Audrunn busy on his knee talks to her bottle, I’m still covered with quilts. My husband stares adoring and sweet, beaming still. Almost his own ray of sunshine. I think he really has wanted this for us. It’s beautiful to see him so serene and uplifted; especially after all the struggles we’ve had. It’s warming to know we can still be family after everything. Like we once were. _

_ “You normally wake up with the sun. Do you feel all right?”he asks me. _

_ I nod. “I’m only tired. Past month of little sleep is finally catching up to me.” _

_ He studies me a moment longer, then nods. “Go back to sleep. I’ll send Pádraig to sort out the farmers at Vigil’s Keep. I’m sure the Fussy Nannies-” the nickname we’ve given our aging maids for their enthusiastic care of me; a coronation gift from Teagan. “- will be glad for a baby to dress up.” My husband leans over with his lips ready for a kiss. _

_ But a baby crawling over his leg is in the way. We giggle again at awkward passes of romance while trying to parent. With a sheepish smile, Alistair leans around puckered for an actual kiss, and this time I lean over to meet him. _

_ I love how he kisses me. Lingering and deliberate. Like nothing else matters in the world; like we never fight. Like our fights aren’t more important than me. Leaning in closer when he holds my head stretches the blanket too far and a chill dances over my breast. Alistair chuckles at my mouth when I shiver, but with his lock on my face, I can’t peek down to see where the quilt fell. Audrunn make a noise of surprise, and I giggle again; no doubt trying to figure out what those strange things on my chest are. When the baby begins to sound impatient, Alistair pulls back only enough to talk. _

_ “All right.” He licks his lips, then kisses me again. But there is no warning for the next interruption. _

_ Sensations that do not belong explode from my nipple. My body reels away in a jerk before I even know what’s going on. Pry away the tiny mouth latched on to my breast. _

_ Not close to what it feels like when Alistair or Anders does it. Not good, not -- _

**Wrong.** _ This is wrong. Tingles through my breast and wet and tiny teeth. Not good. Uncomfortable, unnatural, not right.  _ **Wrong.** _ wrong wrong-- like--- _

_ Unexpected. Wrong. Like _ **him.**

_ “No no no. Bunny, stop--” I push her away and hold my arm to keep her back. Audrunn gives a wail like I took bot-- _

_ … Like I took her bottle away. _

_ Alistair struggles to hold her back. Screaming, crying actual tears this time. Audrunn reaches for me. Like I’m her real mother and I’m denying her. _

_ I’m not her-- I’m not… I can’t. I can’t feed her like that. I’m not her mother, I cant… _

_ I’m not her mother. Not  _ **a** _ mother. _

_ No matter how many I hold or adopt.  _ **He** _ made it so. _

_ Alistair huffs her name in disbelief. He has to get off the bed to get a hold she can’t get out of. My husband pulls her away, and Audrunn crying, yelling, frustrated at me and reaching, her little face flushed. But it’s too late. I can’t-- can’t not-feel it. It’s already here, already on me. _

**Wrong.** _ Not right, too unexpected. Not supposed-- _

_ This is not right, not supposed to happen. Still tingling,  _ **wrong** _ tingling.  _ **Loghain.** _ The reason I can’t be-- why I’m not already--  _ **he made me this way.** _ Unholy-- How can a  _ **baby** _ make me feel that again?? I can’t-- can’t move away. Can’t move at all. Even when he’s dead, I fee-- If feel him  _ **everywhere** _ now.  _ **Again.** _ I feel it tingle through my whole body. Bad. A bad,  _ **wrong** _ tingle -- no no no--- _

 

 

The wailing baby drew his attention. Anders would rather ignore the King, but not with Audrunn crying.

Crying was an understatement. The giant of a King struggled to hold her, even to tip her into tiny Blaire’s arms. Audrunn shrieked and reached for something out of sight, something behind Alistair. Anders forgot where he meant to go and turned his feet.

“What happened?  _ No! _ Stop, you’ll drop her!” He rushed in and took Audrunn before she slipped from Blaire’s small frame. “Bunny, Bunny,  _ shhh, _ it’s okay,” Anders cooed and shushed, bracing her to his chest. He leaned back enough to observe. “What happened?” As if the child could tell him. She tried anyway. Through tears and a long face that broke Anders’ heart and struck worry, Audrunn bawled, choked on her tears, trying her hardest to tell him when she couldn’t talk. Her head kept turning and she reached like what she wanted was back the way she came. “What happened?” Anders looked from Alistair to Blaire, unsure who to accuse first.

King Alistair glanced back, worried like he hadn’t been since he found out Tess had a new womb. A heavy sigh increased lines on his face. “Do you know any calming spells?”

“What? Why?” Anders’ arms tightened around the sobbing baby.  _ “What happened?” _

“She tried to nurse on Tess. She--” he broke off with his eyes on the dwarven child, conflicted. Guilt wracked his face when Audrunn looked back and wailed again like Alistair was a demon trying to eat her soul.

_ “Oh shit.” _ Anders searched Audrunn. No wonder she was devastated.  _ “Bunny.” _

_ “Please,”  _ Alistair begged in a low voice. “The maids can take her.  _ Tess  _ needs  _ calming.” _

It wasn’t every day the King begged his wife’s lover. Anders studied the crying babe desperate for sympathies. His heart sank again. Tess may need calming and help, but here was Audrunn, too young to understand what went wrong. Too young to understand Tess couldn’t breastfeed her, too young to remember Tess wasn’t the mother who breastfed her before.

_ “Anders,” _ the King implored.  _ “Please, _ she’s  _ locked  _ up in _ panic.  _ I can’t--” Alistair turned his head and ran a hand down his face. Wracked, misty-eyed and hard worry when he looked back again.  _ “She needs your help.” _

Anders shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He held the traumatized dwarven babe closer and backed up.  _ Maker let Tess forgive him. _ Whatever she suffered needed to wait. The baby was priority; Audrunn was  _ too young _ to soothe herself when her mother rejected her. Whatever happened couldn’t be blamed on a baby. Too young to understand it  _ wasn’t her fault. _

Alistair stared a like a man betrayed. As if Anders was betraying Tess, and so betraying him. The moment worsened when Audrunn’s gasping wail took a distinct sound:  _ Mam Mam. _

“I have to take of Audrunn first, Alistair. I’m sorry,” Anders insisted. “She  _ doesn’t know better. _ She  _ needs  _ to know it’s _ all right. _ I’ll come for Tess when Audrunn’s asleep. I’m  _ sorry.” _ Guilt cut him all over as he held the King’s glare another moment.  _ Maker, let Tess understand this baby needed him more.  _ With a deep breath, Anders cradled the mourning infant at the crook of his neck and walked as fast as he could with a faint spell seeping from his fingers.

He hated how this made him feel.  _ Just like Alistair’s glare.  _ Anders felt like he was betraying Tess.

 

It took too long to rock Audrunn to sleep. Sparkling healing spell to distract her while he kept a steady calming spell at the back of her head. Swaddled, tears waned at last, unable to keep her eyes open, she gripped his shirt while she jerked back awake every other moment to keep drinking her bottle.  _ To seek comfort. _ Scared to lose the only comfort she had. Anders didn’t know why Alistair made her leave over a simple misunderstanding. Audrunn had been through enough just leaving Orzammar. He couldn’t imagine a  _ misunderstanding  _ being horrible enough to punish a  _ baby. _

But that’s what the Chantry did, didn’t it? Punished children for things they couldn’t help, ripped them from their mothers. Underneath it all, no matter how good a King he was or how he helped end the Blight, Alistair was foremost a Templar. He would always react like one. If it didn’t show when Alistair Smote his mage wife to  _ train  _ her, it showed now.

Too young to understand, and betrayed; it made no difference the betrayal wasn’t real or that she would forget in a week. It was clear Audrunn  _ felt  _ betrayed by who she now knew as her mother. Betrayed and punished for it.

As Anders betrayed Tess to calm the babe who didn’t know better.

Hard to watch the tears dry into stains on her small, exhausted face. It wasn’t fair to start  _ any  _ day like this.

Harder yet was checking on Tess. Covered in thick robes that hid her shape, Tess looked lost as she stared unblinking out the window. Alistair, slouched in defeat on the bed, raised his head and asked how the baby was. The King gestured to the solemn Queen and said he tried everything he knew, but was too late. He removed Audrunn too late. Tess locked up, and when Alistair returned without Audrunn, Tess had covered herself in the thick, shapeless robes she wore now. Alistair admitted he panicked himself. Tess’ panic attacks seemed a thing of the past, and he was not prepared for this one.

_ “I felt him.” _ Her voice made Alistair jump. Tess continued staring out the window. “Again.”

“Who?” Anders dragged a chair to the edge of the bed where she stared into the void.

“Loghain. I… when she… latched on.” Tess hugged her knees to her chest with glossy eyes. Her head shook, her hand shook to hold something -  _ Loghain  _ \- back. “I felt him  _ all ov- over me.” _

Alistair shook his head with closed eyes. “Every time I think we’ve moved on,  _ something else happens.” _ Reversion he feared would take another year to heal from.  _ “He never stops haunting us.” _

Post-traumatic stress.  _ This was much worse.  _ Little Audrunn trying to nurse threw Tess into a fit of post-traumatic shock. She had no idea it wasn’t her fault.  _ And  _ it traumatized  _ her  _ as well. Such a  _ big, _ fucking, unfair mess; caused by a dead man no one could punish.

Calming Tess didn’t have the effect Alistair or Anders hoped. It worked for a while, seemed to make her relax and let her look around, meet eyes. But when Tess felt like moving around, she lurched. She almost tripped over Anders scrambling off the bed, muttering something about  _ sick  _ before vomiting in a chamber pot. Anders sighed and hoped it was only nerves. The last thing he needed was for Tess, and the babies she’d held, to become ill.

_ It was much worse. _ Back in bed with Anders folding a cold, wet rag on her forehead, Tess said she did not feel well  _ down there. _ She felt sore, like she was  _ “squeezed like a lemon.”  _ It took Alistair the same time it did Anders to piece her metaphor together; too quick:  _ Another miscarriage. _ Anders hung his head, Alistair turned and paced with his hand at his mouth. The shock of sudden mental trauma induced another damned miscarriage.

Hoping it was a false alarm or a hint of what could-be, Anders prescribed bed rest.  _ If they could catch this one in time… _

If the Maker had any compassion, He’d save this pregnancy.

By afternoon, hope proved useless. Anders was summoned to the King’s chambers once more to find Tess suffering cramps and hot flashes. Curled up holding her belly, wringing the sheets, crying into her pillow drenched in sweat during contractions, only to shiver under blankets between them. They had no choice but to stay one more day for the miscarriage to pass.

At least they weren’t underground for this one.

And Tess’ husbands were upset with each other once more. Alistair couldn’t handle the miscarriage and disappeared into his study to be alone. Anders sat with Tess through her  _ third  _ while the King who so famously wanted children hid from her pain, and Alistair, while never outright declaring fault, kept asking there wasn’t  _ something  _ Anders could have done sooner. An unspoken pact not to fight while Tess hurt, but disappointment in each other was clear.

Tess wasn’t even Anders’ priority still. Every chance he got, he ran back to Audrunn and did his best to make her laugh. The poor girl didn’t want to be put down. She babbled and played with him, Tess’ elderly maids said she seemed fine, save for clinging. Little Audrunn did her best to adjust when her mother - again - on a sudden vanished from her life. A tiny thing so brave in this strange world which kept changing on her. But babies could only be so brave.

Anders adored Tess, and he was grateful beyond words for her support. But she also disappointed him. It was not fair to abandon a child the way she had. Post-traumatic stress was not her fault, but reacting so was. If Tess did not want to see Audrunn again, Anders would need to take her away, raise her somewhere Tess wouldn’t frequent so they could avoid this mess again.

Maybe even run once more.  

When Audrunn at long last fell asleep for the night, Anders dragged his feet back upstairs to the King’s chambers to finish healing Tess. Another two hours or so, pain spells, healing spells, regeneration. When Tess sat at last without pain and ate again, the moon was high in the sky. Anders was exhausted and needed to catch his breath. Needed to sit with himself and a hard drink.

Glad she felt better, but still disappointed about how Audrunn was removed. Anders watched Tess while he washed his hands in the basin.

“Do you plan on seeing Audrunn in the morning?” he asked. Tess paused a spoon of soup at her mouth to meet his eyes. “I think you should.” He nodded. “She needs to know it’s not her fault.”

“I don’t…” Tess put the spoon in her bowl and pushed the tray away, brow furrowing. Her shoulders curled in like she did each time thoughts she didn’t want to face crossed her mind. As if doing this would encourage someone to take the unwanted thoughts away.

Anders sighed.  _ Alistair’s damned influence. _ A single, damned night with the King, and she was falling back into her old cage. Already trying to mold her into someone he could predict by making her think she couldn’t handle her own problems. To Anders, it seemed little more than slave-mentality: submission was now almost like first nature. No matter how she might strive for freedom, Alistair’s cage was familiar and easy. Anders would never stop hating the King for this.

“It’s  _ not  _ her  _ fault,  _ Tess, you know that.  _ Don’t  _ you?” When she didn’t answer, Anders moved the tray of food to the floor and sat at Tess’ feet. Her eyes flinched before raising her head to search him. “You’re her  _ mother  _ now,” he reminded her. Emerald eyes moved to each of his. Leaning on his knees from tea table at the window, Alistair raised his head from a glass of hard liquor. “She doesn’t know what she did wrong, Tess. She doesn’t understand it was wrong for  _ you. _ Nursing isn’t wrong to a baby, it’s part of how they function. It’s instinct and reflex to want to nurse, their jaws are  _ made  _ for it. It  _ comforts  _ them.” He shrugged. “A mother’s bosoms and arms are a baby’s  _ whole world. _ She’s  _ confused. _ It’s been long enough, now, she’s forgotten she ever had another mother, but she remembers nursing. It’s  _ still instinct _ for her, just like you remember how to eat even between meals.” They stared for a moment. At risk of Alistair, Anders reached over and tucked hair behind Tess’ ear to better see her eyes. She  _ needed  _ to understand. “We can cover you up so she can’t tell you have breasts to nurse on, but you  _ can’t ignore _ her.  _ She’s  _ traumatized,  _ too, _ Tess. She was ripped from her mother a  _ second  _ time over a misunderstanding  _ she’s  _ not old enough to control. It’s  _ not fair _ to her. This is supposed to be her  _ home  _ now, she’s supposed to  _ grow up _ here. She  _ lives  _ here now and you’re her  _ mother.  _ You  _ can’t abandon _ her, even for a day. Work is one thing, but…” Anders shook his head with another sigh.  _ “It’s not her fault. _ I’m  _ sorry  _ it hurt you, but it’s  _ not  _ her fault. Nothing  _ bad  _ happened.  _ Nursing  _ isn’t bad.”

Tess searched him hard till tears glazed her eyes. “I’m scared.”

“I  _ know  _ you are. And I know it’s new for you. But you can’t just push her away when she tries. We can teach her not to, but you  _ can’t  _ push her away. She’s too young to remember you aren’t the mother who breastfed her before. She’s a  _ baby. _ All she knows her mother is  _ angry  _ at her. She thinks her mother doesn’t want her.” Magic did not comfort a baby from those things.

“I’m  _ not  _ angry at her.” Tess shook her head, searching him like she didn’t understand how that was mistaken. “It… brought back everything the day Loghain… decided to destroy proof he r- ruined the Teyrn’s daughter. I’m  _ scared.” _

_“She_ doesn’t know that. _Maker,_ Tess, this is like when Alistair left you and you learned he wasn’t in Highever.” From the corner of his eye, Alistair sat up with a frown. Tess withdrew further with her own frown of hurt. “It’s _that bad_ for her. She doesn’t know what she did wrong, _just_ like you felt. You _can_ be scared, you can even be _angry,_ but you _can’t ignore_ her. You’re her _mother_ now, _you’re_ the _adult._ _You_ have work through this for you _and_ her. You _can’t_ let it fall on her like this.”

Alistair sighed hard and ran his hands over his face. “Is there no way to prevent this?” When Anders turned, Alistair gestured to the closed door. “Maybe she  _ doesn’t  _ understand. But what if she tries to nurse again? How is it  _ this easy _ to lose a baby? To  _ keep  _ losing babies?” the King wondered in disbelief. Anders was relieved he didn’t argue about Highever.

“I can’t stop it.” Anders shook his head. “And I can’t guarantee nothing will ever trigger Tess again. Maybe I can pinpoint something curable after the darkspawn are dealt with, but even then…” he shrugged. “We can teach Audrunn she can’t nurse on Tess. Or find a wet nurse. But removing her like that  _ isn’t  _ the answer. She can’t help her  _ instincts,  _ even more than Tess can’t help spontaneous triggers.”

Alistair sat silent for a moment. “So we’re stuck in a pattern of miscarriages until we end this?” Another pause. “How many miscarriages can she have before the  _ rest  _ of her starts straining?”

Anders shrugged and shook his head in uncertainty again. “Tess can take potions to stop her cycle. We have some ready at the Keep. It should prevent pregnancy until the darkspawn are dealt with.”

_ “Should?” _ Alistair stared.

“Nothing’s ever certain with medicine; there are always cases that defy nature or magic. But in most women, it works.”

“And it will prevent a child growing?” Alistair stared at Tess while he thought

“Yes. She can stop taking it whenever.” Anders shook his head once more. “But it  _ won’t  _ stop Audrunn from acting her age. She’s a  _ baby. _ She needs  _ guidance, _ not abandonment.”

King and Queen searched each other across Anders, so long he felt like nothing more than  _ doctor.  _

Alistair then hung his head and nodded. “Take the potions, Tess.” A heavy decision for the man who believed elements of a trap in the Fade were real children not yet born. “We’ll… figure everything else out later.” King Alistair rose from his chair with a long, graven face and opened the door. “Thank you. Anders. It’s been a long day. I’d like to sleep.”

Anders nodded. Short and blunt. But Anders agreed. He squeezed Tess’ hand before stepping off the bed and collecting his tools. “Wake me if… you know.”

“Of course.” Alistair nodded again. “And we’ll check on Audrunn in the morning.”

For the sake of Ferelden’s new Princess, Anders hoped so.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you.


	46. Sacrifice and Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Audrunn behind is harder than imagined. But returning to Vigil's Keep to sort out the mob holds no reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ AT OWN RISK.
> 
>  
> 
> Mood Music:  
> More of You, by Colton Dixon  
> Snow, by Machineheart  
> Diamonds, by Rhianna
> 
>  

Anders woke to Alistair shaking him. _Tess was missing,_ as was the baby.

_Way to start another day._

_Andraste, one quiet day of rest would be welcome._

The fussy nannies said Tess came in with the sun and took the baby, but no one saw her since. Over each other, the Warden King and Warden Healer could not feel the presence of her Taint. After a thorough search through every nook in the palace, Anders had the sense to suggest her family’s home down the road. In his experience, it was where Tess fled when the palace grew overwhelming.

Sure enough, when a group of men burst in and searched the _manor,_ there was Tess, curled up around a napping dwarven babe. She peeked at her two husbands with a grumpy glare that dared them to make more noise, then her eyes closed again.

And… it was all right. Tess tightened her hold around drooling, snoozing Audrunn and cradled her like she never blamed the young thing. Alistair and Anders exchanged a curious glance before they stepped out into the hall and Alistair said bring the girls home when they awake. With a last glance at Tess and her new baby, the King left with his guards, and Anders had a quiet _manor_ to himself.

It wasn’t long before he tiptoed in the room with another quilt, joined the sleeping ladies on the bed, where at last he had a moment to breathe. _It would be all right,_ Anders thought as he dared waking Tess to cover her cold ears.

Audrunn familiar with him meant Anders may always have to stay near the royal palace, but in time living near Alistair might not be so bad. As long as they helped each other. There were, after all, worse things than a love triangle adopting a foreign baby.

Tess stirred with small noise as Anders tucked her in. Tired emeralds pried themselves open. Tess stared for a moment, then above Audrunn’s head clutched the hand Anders offered with a smile. His sleepy, beautiful women. His beautiful _family._ Anders leaned over and kissed her head, careful not to wake the baby, and settled back down as still as could be. Proud and grateful she amended her fears with the baby; proud she didn’t give in to fear like Anders’ father had. His smile spread as her eyes slid shut again.

And Audrunn’s flew open. Anders froze with closed eyes to try to fool her into going back to sleep, to let Tess sleep longer. But when he peeked, Audrunn gave a grin, wiggled and rolled over and sat up with a happy noise of greeting. And that was it. Awake as if she hadn’t been hard asleep mere seconds ago. As if they were both wide awake and ready to play with her.

Anders could only laugh at Tess’ glare.

 

Unfortunate their job meant never-ending sacrifice.

As Wardens, the Commander and her Healer were needed in Amaranthine. Yet Audrunn needed Tess and Anders around one last day. If not to help transition living here without them, then to try to show their future absence was not her fault. Anders insisted Vigil’s Keep would be fine without its Commander one more day; Alistair even sent Pádraig and the elite guard ahead to ensure it. They all agreed, after the panic yesterday and the instability of constant change, Audrunn needed reassurance more than anything.

It did not go as planned, though. What was meant to teach Audrunn Alistair would always be there when Tess and Anders left became a game of _hide and seek._ After a few times hiding down the corridor, Alistair laughed from the other hall, and to their surprise, Audrunn crawled around the corner with the biggest grin on her face. Alistair encouraged it with a shrug and his own grin: what better way to show leaving wasn’t bad by making it fun? So there they played, King, Queen, and the Grey Warden Healer, on hands and knees in the palace halls with a baby chasing them.

It wasn’t about them today, about who Tess belonged to. Audrunn seemed the one _greater good_ to push grudges aside. Necessity _demanded._ As of then, Audrunn knew Tess and Anders as her parents, but they had to show her _Alistair_ was _also_ Da. The royal palace would stand frozen in a sleeplessness and wails if Audrunn did not trust the King. Guided by Anders and surprising input from Alistair, they put on their best faces and acted the family _Audrunn_ needed. When they weren’t practicing _hide-and-seek,_ the three did their best to parent as if Audrunn really had two fathers. At meal time, they sat her between them and took turns feeding her soft food or offering her bottle. They even cuddled together when she snuggled into Tess for nap; three large sides of a single-pea pod.

Anders didn’t hesitate to flick his competition behind Tess’ head. Alistair retaliated with a smart smack from behind. It wasn’t long till grunts and smirks and swatting hands became a sign of play to the babe in Tess’ arms. Tess stopped her men abrupt with a smile and her eyes on Audrunn. _“If Da’s continue waking baby, Mam will make them wrestle naked,_ ” she sang as if a lullaby. Alistair groaned and hid his face. Anders turned it around and sang _“Mam Mam’s asking for a spanking”_ with a smile of his own. Alistair smacked him from behind again.

Everything boiled down to showing Audrunn she could rely on Alistair if Tess and Anders were unavailable. After nap, they played one more game of hide-and-seek, and this time while Tess and Anders walked away, Alistair shared snacks with Audrunn. Treats sure to grab her attention worked better than all day, and Audrunn soon learned Alistair gave her what she wanted with a little persistence. By supper, she turned to Alistair first for most bites; and chocolate.

It didn’t make leaving easier. Come morning, Audrunn sensed something was wrong. She clung to Tess, wanted to be held. She wanted to lie back in Tess’ arms with her bottle and stick her fingers in Tess’ mouth. Anders reminded her this was the equivalent of nursing for Audrunn; a time of bonding and comfort, reassurance _Mam Mam_ was right there despite the feeling of change. Tess misted and held Audrunn closer, letting herself stall their needed departure further.

She realized at last her own children don’t need to come from her womb. Perhaps a few weeks too late. It was all Anders could do to remind her they’d see Audrunn again soon.

Mounting the horses was even harder. As soon as Audrunn realized they weren’t taking her along, she began calling for Tess with her arms out. Anders told Tess to wave and smile, to look happy and promise to come home soon, but Audrunn continued reaching and crying out. When shrieks for _Mam Mam_ became real tears, Tess stopped her steed then and there, hopped down with a long face and glassy eyes, and held her arms out as she returned. Alistair’s face fell at Tess’ heartbreak and he, too, deviated from the plan to distract Audrunn. The small girl clung to Tess with a deep pout and wet cheeks and tried to ask, in her baby babble, why _Mam Mam_ was leaving her.

So heartrending it made Anders’ eyes leak, though he also sighed. The bigger picture still lay before them, but at this rate, they would never leave. Which meant they would never return to Vigil’s Keep to help Nate hold back desperate farmers. Which meant darkspawn would never stop resurfacing. The nightmare would never end.

He dismounted and joined the huddled Queen and King. After another warm bottle and a sleeping spell while Tess rocked, Audrunn slept hard. Tear-stained and clutching _Mam Mam_ even in slumber; terrified to lose her again. She did not wake when Alistair cradled her against his chest. Anders tucked the baby in; in Alistair the Giant’s arms, Audrunn looked almost newborn. He told Blaire to keep Tess’ night gown from the wash, he ordered Alistair to drape Tess’ gown over him so Audrunn could smell her. Then before Tess could coddle Audrunn awake, Anders pulled her back to the horses and did not mount his own till she climbed up.

When Denerim was at last behind them, midday had already passed them by.

 

 

Riding without Audrunn was no less easy than riding with her. There was a void now, silence save for the heavy hooves on frosty gravel. Things were different now. Now, they were parents, and their child cried for them not to leave. There were no words to alleviate guilt, and mood only changed when sunfall forced them to seek warmth. Anders scorched a patch of thick snow and set a glyph of shelter, where hard drink gave guilt a voice.

Tess, sunken and sullen, said it was her fault. Anders' heart broke all over again. His Commander, the woman who ended a Blight with daggers at dusk, said if she hadn't become Audrunn's friend, none of _this_ would have happened. If she “hadn't... _fallen in love,”_ then Audrunn would not have been taken from her mother again. _Thrice,_ now, recalling the nursing confusion. It was _her_ fault Audrunn had such a hard time. _“I can’t stop hurting people.”_

She didn’t believe Anders when he said it wasn’t true. She hoped Audrunn would not forget her before they returned.

Anders reached for her, held her tight when she cried and clung and blamed herself again. There was little left to say other than the sooner they took care of the darkspawn, the sooner they could return to their new baby. _The important thing was,_ Anders assured, _Tess gave Audrunn a loving mother._ A mother who kept the world safe to protect _her._ Not all children had such a parent.

It was the first night Tess fell asleep clutching Anders needing validation.

 

Daybreak didn’t ease her heart. Tess helped him pack up camp, but she stared at nothing like thoughts collided and crossed on a futuristic highway, brow sunken even as they set off. It wasn’t until Anders held his hand out for hers did his almighty Commander remove her weights.

“Do you think I’m being cruel?” Tess asked. Her stare, though, didn’t seek validation. She sought a way out of the mental flagellation she endured.

"Cruel?" Anders echoed.

She nodded. "Or selfish."

“We can’t bring her with us, Tess.” He knew she already knew, though.

A pause drifted her eyes. “I don’t just mean Audrunn.”

Anders didn’t need her to elaborate. But it wasn’t her alone. The two of them _together_ created a family for Audrunn _with Alistair_ …

… The man Tess the Warden-Commander couldn’t be free from. The man who would kill Anders to rid competition if Tess’ wrath wouldn’t destroy the throne, Alistair’s one place of comfort.

“Sometimes I feel like I can’t help it. For the life of me, I couldn’t turn on affection for him when he returned. Then five minutes with Anora and I remember why I agreed to Morrigan’s blasted ritual. But a _moment away,_ and the _idea_ of him…” she shook her head. “As long as something isn’t forcing thoughts into my head, he doesn’t feel like my husband. I don’t love him unless - unless I’m _cornered._ That’s how it feels. It feels like I’ve been _cornered,_ it’s _forced_ on me. And sometimes I get caught up in the moment trying to make what we had _real_ again. But it’s _done._ I don’t feel anything for him now but as a chain.” She met his eyes. “Am I _cruel_ for leading him on?”

Anders shook his head. “You’re _married,_ Tess. Not to mention _Queen_ is a _job. King, queen; both_ a job. It’s always been that way. Fereldan nobles marry for _position,_ not love. _Security.”_

“But I loved him when I married him.”

“It sounds like you were both different people when that happened,” Anders recalled her stories from the Blight.

Tess nodded, then sighed heavy. “But I’ve made him believe I want to work out our marriage for _his_ sake, because I _love_ him. But I _don’t._ I think… I just love the _memory_ of loving him before. Of how it felt to know that _pure knight_ loved a _broken, mental addict.”_ She paused, eyes moving under thought again. “He made me feel like I had done something right, then. He made me feel like I deserved him. Like I was lucky to have him.” She swallowed with a long blink and a tight jaw. Anders felt her heartache from there. “But if I force divorce, he’ll _kill_ you. _Pádraig_ will kill _Nathaniel.”_

“That’s not the same thing as using him, Tess. We know you have to stay married to the King to protect your family. _I_ know that. It’s a shoddy position to be in. It’s _not fair_ for your husband to _burden_ you with that. But we’re in this together, all of us. You, me, Nathaniel, Oghren, Justice, Sigrun. I believe Varel and Garavel are with us, too.”

“How is that fair to _Audrunn,_ though? I don’t want her growing up _learning_ that from me. Learning how to… _submit_ in _fear_ of something. _Pretend_ or _else.”_ _Shame_ that fought to gloss her eyes. Shame _instilled_ by a man she once trusted.

“She’ll know the difference, Tess.” Anders gave a smile when she met his eyes. “She doesn’t always have to live in Denerim. As long as darkspawn aren’t surfacing, she’ll probably want to be where her _Mam Mam_ is. She’ll see how the lot of us are at the Keep.” He shrugged. “And even if she _does_ figure out you’re just quelling tides, we can teach her otherwise. We can teach her the _right_ way.” He smiled again when she laid her hand on his. “None of us will leave you to do this on your own, Tess. I _promise.”_

 

 

Approaching Vigil’s Keep was no less onerous. Buoyancy Anders managed to incite during the day disappeared as Pádraig met them the outside the bailey. Ahead, Anders and Tess saw a crowd, and spilling out the stables all along the road were carriages and horses. More transport than they expected. As they drew closer, noise came to hear. Voices, though indistinct, carried over the sound of wind, horses, and hounds. Vigil’s Keep might have been the Denerim Chantry at first bell for weekly mass. A perfect fan for hot coals.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tess demanded of the carriages pouring from the stables.

Pádraig, another man Anders didn’t care for, shook his head with large breath. “The Arling’s Banns and Lords arrived a day before us, Your Majesty.”

 _“All_ of them?” Tess asked. The number of carriages meant any number of passengers.

“Most. Between them and the farmers, we’re wearing thin. No one’s slept in days.” With a glance to Anders, “We’ve gone through most your stock of stamina potions, and that’s since _I’ve_ been here. We’ve done what we can,” Pádraig shook his head, eyes on Tess again, “but they’re pushing our last resorts.”

“What’s the last resort?” Anders asked, a hunch he already knew.

Pádraig met his eyes with a shrug that said he dreaded it already. “Slaughter.”

Anders gripped his reins so tight his steed snorted. “It can’t be _that_ bad. You can’t kill them _all.”_ He didn’t know if he tried to convince Pádraig or himself. It _wasn’t_ that bad… _was_ it?

Pádraig shrugged his head. “If they breach the Keep, we’ll have no choice.”

“Where are the Banns?” Tess tightened her own reins.

“Inside. We’re hoping you can move them. If not, we’re ready on your call, Queen Tesslyn.”

“And the other Wardens?” Anders asked.

“On their last nerves, as well. We’ve had to keep Oghren under house arrest, he’s tried to kill one already, but it hasn’t stopped a thing.”

With a tight brow and a growl, Tess nudged her horse and flew. Anders sighed and rushed after her. If the Maker pitied these farmers, He was losing time to save them. After Audrunn, Tess was already stressed. Anders knew one wrong word could change her mind quicker than a blink, and mercy would be out of the question.

If the crowd of horses wasn’t a maze, pushing into to the inner bailey was. If not for the height of their steeds, Anders and Tess might not see over the crowd with swords, shields, and pitchforks.

 _Pitchforks._ Like from old fairytales of farmers marching to defeat a mighty beast.

Anders had never seen a mob before. Amid blending shouts were words like _starving, dying, abandon,_ and _liar._ Nate and Justice stood with Captain Garavel, the Seneschal, the royal guard and Keep soldiers. Weapons on both sides of the invisible line were drawn and ready. Farmers pressed forward. Justice activated his Fade Cloak so fast it knocked a farmer off his feet. As others pulled the down farmer back up, another cluster pushed to the front of the crowd.

 _“Bloody feed your people!”_ someone yelled above the rest; courage from desperation.

“You have _got_ to be kidding!” Tess muttered. She slipped from her horse, and with no warning save for a sudden swell of mana, her hands glowed violet and a stream began to pour.

 _“Tess--!”_ Anders hopped from his horse. _The Queen was not supposed to be a mage!_ If people found out, the Templars would come. Enough Templars, and it wouldn’t matter who fought to keep her.

Anders did not reach her before her violet cage trapped the mob. Like a silo of spirit fire; Tess’ favorite and first nature with flame, _because it was the Archdemon’s._ A unanimous gasp replaced demands and threats. Anders held his breath, hoping no farmer saw it came from Tess. The Keep staff already knew of her magic, but the Chantry would not hesitate to act on a frightened citizen’s claim; especially after Tess demanded his phylactery the way she did. Frightened farmers, even if Tess convinced them without harm, would call the Templars if they continued to suffer. And the Chantry _would_ reward them for it. Anders surged his hands in his own purple glow and tried to stand where he’d be seen first. With any luck, the people would think it was _his_ magic.

A man in patched clothes backed into the cage, and before he even turned his head to see the flames crawl, a shriek of raw torment silenced the courtyard. Anders had to dowse the burning man so Tess could speak.

At least the mob was quiet now; frozen in fear of the unknown.

 _“Someone_ tell me _I’m dreaming!”_ The Commander of the Grey strode to the front of the mob tall and confident, pulling her gloves off one finger at a time. She stared at each startled face with a tight jaw and matching brow. Anders kept his hands aglow.

“It’s about time you show showed up,” Nathaniel greeted Tess and Anders, bow ready. His brow hung so hard it gave the impression Nate had been glaring for days. Anders now felt guilty they’d not ridden all night long.

“Had we known…” Anders shook his head with a glance to the desperate crowd.

A graying man in overalls and a leather cuirass trembled to hold two swords tighter. “You heard us! _Feed_ us! We- _We grow your food!_ We breed your cattle! We - this is _our_ land you use! But you ignore our pleas for protection and aid! We had no choice to come here! It’s not safe to hunt, it’s not safe to harvest what we have left!”

Tess’ face hardened more with every complaint. From a Warden’s perspective, it was not hard to see her side. Tess, and every Warden here, worked their asses off - and more - when it came to darkspawn. But Anders had tended to paupers before; the poor who couldn’t find food, too frail and ill to call out for help.

There was no _right side_ in this debate.

“The darkspawn have _burnt_ all that’s left! It’s all we can do to live off our stores! We’re starving!”

“Our _children_ are starving!”

“Commander,” Seneschal Varel greeted. “Perhaps you can sway them. Despite our numbers, we’ve had no luck.”

“Varel, you do not _sway_ a revolt. If we submit, they will return stronger and _milk_ us like sows.” Captain Garavel turned to Tess with a lined face. “Commander, our troops are draining, even with palace reinforcements. We cannot avoid sleep any longer. Potions are already failing us. If we _continue_ to allow this, our men will be _too weak_ to hold back this _fumbling_ defiance. _Give the word,”_ Garavel advised, staring hard, “and we end this _now,_ while we still have the strength.”

“Wait, _wait!_ You can’t just kill everyone!” Anders kept his voice low. “They say they’re starving. Why can’t we help with that?”

“It’s not just that, Warden Anders.” Varel shook his head, locking his hands behind his back. “As per the Commanders orders, we’ve divided our soldiers equally amongst the farmland and city, with Denerim reinforcing. Our troops remain in the fields, and I’m told those in Amaranthine have even gone to aid. Our forces have kept arling upkeep at the minimum, but the farmers succumb to fear. Much of it has to do with Bann Esmerelle and her financial influence. She has the majority convinced the Commander is sacrificing commoners so the Wardens remain unharmed.” He shook his head again.

If Tess ever tried to flay someone with her mind, this was it. Anders genuinely wondered if the Bann of question was in pain right then.

“When Esmerelle arrived,” Varel continued, “she encouraged the citizens to demand stores and rooms so they could board themselves up as - and I quote - _‘as these cowardly Wardens do._ ’ As if the Commander’s job is to uphold, not guide.”

“They are here for _coddling,_ which is _why_ we must not give in!” Garavel gave a sharp wave of dismissal. “We will only burn _ourselves_ in the long run. Since our Arlessa also happens to be the Queen _and_ Warden-Commander, it is _even more_ vital we show our strength. With darkspawn terrorizing, the _last_ thing we need is for armed farmhands believing we - _and the Crown_ \- are at their disposal.”

“Is it _possible_ they _are_ starving?” Anders asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Varel shook his head once more. “Scouts report not enough crops have burnt for actual starvation. While the darkspawn and bandits _are_ a threat, I’m afraid trepidation boils down to Esmerelle’s desire for power. Her greed has always been fueled by commoners’ fear of loss. These are not the first commoners she has - ah, _persuaded.”_

Anders sighed while Tess clenched. _Unbelievable,_ after all the Wardens went through in Blackmarsh, Wending Wood, and Kal’Hirol. Tess already did not care for Esmerelle. Feeding frightened farmers more fear seemed Bann Esmerelle’s last mistake, though even punishing the shrew would have to wait until the darkspawn no longer posed a threat.

Another outcry for food resounded.

 _Queen_ Tesslyn’s eyes narrowed as she looked around. “You’re demanding I _feed_ you? After all I’ve already done since _I_ ended the Blight - all the _trade_ and _seeds_ and _labor_ I brought in to _revive your crops_ and _fill your purses_ \- you’re demanding I sit you down like _babes_ and stick _spoons_ in your mouths?”

“Our _homes_ burns! We’re _dying!_ We’ll _all die!”_

“If _we_ die, who will feed _you,_ _Your Majesty?”_ another retorted with saved ire. Tess’ face darkened, and as a gust of wind, Nathaniel aimed, every archer following suit.

“Respect your Queen, or _only your head_ returns home!” Nathaniel was on his last strain of patience to threaten such penalty.

“Your crops feed only yourselves, as they always have. _My_ gardens have _always_ filled my plates, _if_ I have not hunted my fill _myself._ Do _not_ play me for a fool, _you know_ to whom you speak.” She hesitated to glower at the failed attempt to scare her into submission.

She already _hated_ her _past_ self for submitting when she could have fought.

 _“Below your feet,”_ Tess announced loud and clear, “lay the remains of a _darkspawn_ army breeding _right_ beneath you!” Another pause, daring with silence for the mob to further protest. _“That_ is where our job has taken us, to a _mire_ of _rotting flesh_ where darkspawn breed like _giant insects._ If _I’d_ not _gone_ there - if I’d _instead_ reaped and defended your crops _for_ you - _you_ might already be dead. _Or_ lying in a pool of agony while your _brain_ and _flesh_ rot away. Your _families_ are lucky you haven’t turned ghoul and _eaten_ them.” Slow, precise footsteps paced between Keep defense and the mob trying to process her words. Tess slid her diamond-coated rose dagger from its sheath and displayed the blade in sunlight, glittering her citizens in sparkles too marvelous for the loathsome moment. Each shower of glitter made eyes squint and heads move to get out of the glare. _“I_ killed the Archdemon with a _dagger_ atop _Fort Drakon_ at _night._ If you think I can’t do _worse_ to farmers who use their pitchforks to threaten their _Queen_ instead of defend their homes, the families you left behind are in trouble.”

“Our families? You can’t- _Maker,_ _you’re not serious?”_

Anders shared the same concern, but he tried to mask it. Tess was raised a politician. Anders could not see this woman following through with such drastic measures if the crowd backed down. But if the crowd understood her, they were slow to move. It was as Pádraig said: if the mob was not quelled, death would be necessary.

“You _wouldn’t!”_ another broken cry of shock.

Varel and Garavel straightened, the Captain raised his arm for archers to stand by. As before when Nathaniel aimed, all archers on the wall walk and turrets stressed their bows. Justice and the other bladesmen raised shield higher and prepared to lunge.

It was times like this Anders hated the responsibility that came with ruling. These people had the choice to ask for help without threats or violence, yet they chose the hard way, and would force the Keep’s hand. Making cowards of themselves to have struggles ended for them by a blade, rather than endure with courage to see a better day. He hated being forced to kill innocents, but Anders, too, prepared to fight. He could not stand by and watch this mob attack his family.

 _“I_ am your _Queen,_ not some _lowly Arlessa!”_ Tess reminded them. The violet fog on her dagger was unnecessary with the look on her face. Anders kept one hand engulfed in his own spirit fire in case. “You will _lay_ down your arms and _go home_ so my Wardens can _finish_ their job! And you _will obey_ because _I the Queen TOLD_ you to!

“If you _don’t_ leave now, I will be _forced_ to take action to _protect_ the Grey Wardens, and it will leave your homes _more_ defenseless than you claim they already are. If you force my hand, you force your _children_ to _die protecting_ each other. I have _sent_ what soldiers we can afford to patrol the farmlands. _Everywhere_ we are spread thin because _everywhere_ needs help, _not_ just you. I have _done_ my part, I am _still_ doing my part! _My_ part _never_ ends! I _cannot_ go after the source of this threat with the lot of _you_ clinging to my leg like _lost urchins!_ The _longer_ I stand here _wasting time,_ the more time _you_ give Darkspawn to _ravage your lands!_ If you had time to march here with pitchforks, you had _time_ to use those pitchforks against an _actual enemy_ _._ Do _NOT_ make me your enemy! _One_ day _I_ will _stop saving_ you.” With subtle gestures, the violet cage around the mob flared up angry with hunger. The glow on her dagger grew brighter with it.

Not even worry or fear moved them. Anders had never seen stubbornness so _daft._ Or brainwashed; Bann Esmerelle’s life would not last till sundown. The first blade took too long to drop. The second and third were reluctant. Too proud to admit they were trapped and would not triumph.

Tess did not quench her flames till the last weapon lowered.

Now, standing tall again, _Queen_ Tesslyn looked over her people like a disappointed mother. “I advise you return home before my patience wears thin. If you want me to solve your problems _for_ you, _you need to let me._ You will _not_ interfere with the Crown _or_ Wardens’ duties again, lest darkspawn, bandits, and starvation be the _least_ of your worries. _Am I clear?”_

Turning around was as much defeat as lowering weapons. One by one with timid yanks on other arms, the frightened farmers turned away. Logic won over fright at long last.

Anders only felt pity for them. They could have avoided this is they’d stayed home in the first place. He also counted themselves lucky. If these had been cornered magi, their fear might have turned to blood magic; demons.

He always wondered why people couldn’t see logic in the face of extremes.

“Do you know how many times we said the exact same thing?” Sigrun said, irritation still thick in her voice. She stood with a scowl on her face and her arms over her chest, watching the last of the mob grow smaller.

“We didn’t have magic, then.” Garavel’s was less relieved than determined. “If the Commander is open to advice,” his eyes landed on Tess like a weight, “we could use more mages here. Enough to always have some on hand when Warden duties call you away.”

“I can think of a handful already who’d join in a heartbeat.” Anders nodded at the idea. He’d meant to ask Tess about recruiting more magi anyway.

Tess nodded as well. “I’ve been considering it already,” she agreed. Her own sigh was full of exhaustion. While the mob was gone, they still suffered the absence of Audrunn, and there was no time to rest when their efforts in Kal’Hirol didn’t dent the Spawn. “As soon as I’ve a long enough to break, I’ll start recruiting.”

“Before you make yourselves comfortable, I remind you of the nobles in the throne room,” Varel says.

Tess growled. “What do they want? Other than _fed egos?”_

“Demands on action against the Darkspawn,” Pádraig answered. In all the commotion, Anders forgot he was present. “In the form of honey-laced noble banter.”

“I told them to ask you,” Sigrun added.

Tess grimaced. _“Appreciated.”_ She looked at Sigrun. “You’re fired.”

Anders huffed with a grin. “At least it’s not me this time.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” Sigrun brushed it off with a wave. “I’m quite attached to my room here.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Tess shook her head. She wasn’t serious, though. A never-ending joke whenever her Wardens reported unfavorable news. A glint of humor reserved only for her Wardens when the world required seriousness. Tess’ eyes swam in thought. “Now I _know_ why Teagan refuses to climb higher than Arl.”

“Is it serious? The nobles, I mean,” Anders asked Varel.

The Seneschal cocked his head, exasperated with the idea of nobles. “They’ve been here for days.”

“And they’re all upset we haven’t offered accommodations,” Nathaniel said.

“Noble entitlement at it’s least vile.” Tess sighed again. She needed a night to wind down, a long morning in her Safe Place. Anders didn’t need to ask to know. If she was gone when he woke up, that’s where she’d be.

She needed a long night of _love,_ after the past week ground her heart like herbs.  

“If we go in the front, we’ll never get tea before they assault us,” Anders told her. Tess looked at him, long and drawing. He saw it all over her face: she wanted a break, but the sooner they dealt with the nobles, the sooner they could rest. Anders smiled for her and held out his hand. “Come on. We’ll go in the back.” Anders smiled larger when her hand laid on his.

With any luck, what the lords needed could wait until tomorrow.

 

 

**_Tess:_ **

_I don’t know how we managed to sneak in unseen. Eyes spied every corner seen from the throne room. Their urge to pry at everything surged so strong I felt it as we walked through servants’ halls. It still feels like one of the lords will pop out from around the corner any moment._

_Away from the heat of the mob, there is time at last to sit. Enough time for me to reflect on my empty arms and the weight they lack._

_Audrunn is not here still._

_Though I know I left her in Denerim, it feels she is missing._

_My tiny friend. My… my daughter. My small friend who does not know I am not the mother she had a month ago._

_I miss her. I miss my Bunny._

_Anders hands me a cup of tea, then makes one himself and joins me on the edge of my bed. “For relaxation,” he says, though the more I relax, the more I focus on the fact I am not a good Mam Mam._

_I abandoned my daughter. It doesn’t matter I need to stop monsters. I still left her._

_Anders watches me a while before reminding me there are potions in the store room I should take. As soon as I meet his eyes, I know which he means. The potions to stop my monthly. So I don’t miscarry anymore while we still have monsters to stop._

_He apologizes for not seeing it sooner. Audrunn had us all distracted. With Audrunn needing so much attention, by the time we reached Denerim, he forgot I struggled to carry. Anders says he should have known when we sat down for supper and I ate odd blends I’ve never tried before. He didn’t put it together when he should have, and he can’t say how sorry he is._

_I don’t even know what to say. I can’t speak to tell him he did nothing wrong._

_Anders smiles for me, trying to encourage. Yet I see the ache through his eyes. All my miscarriages have affected him almost as they have me._

_He’ll bring up the potion after tea, but when we stop the darkspawn and come home, we can try again. If I still want to, he adds. We’ll have time to try the_ **right** _way, where I can take life easy and he can watch over me to make sure I carry. He smiles again, tucking hair behind my ear. “Give Audrunn a little brother or sister to play with.”_

_Audrunn would like that. So would my dog._

_“And… if not,” he shrugs, “if it still doesn’t work, I’ll have time to research why.”_

_I’d rather not take the potion, though. What it keeps working after I stop taking it? I don’t want this to be another mistake I can’t correct. I’m too old for those anymore. It won’t be worth it. But Anders is worried I’ll miscarry in the field again._

_It_ **is** _one more problem we could do without when we eradicate that Mother monster. I can’t argue that._

 _“We’ll_ **make** _it worth it,” he promises with his hand over mine._

 

_Morning is one fucking mess after another. What began sweet and tender in Anders’ arms turned bitter and inflaming within moments of stepping in the throne room._

_Bann Esmerelle bitches about my priorities. One glance to Varel and I remember he said she incited the mob yesterday. The longer she rants about how I am not measuring up to her ideals of protection, the more I want to cut her tongue out. Though I am not even sure that would stop her snide complaints. Time drags itself on drunken hand and knee when this shrew talks. Worse today her sneer and criticism is directed at me. She was always a problem; my father used to pass her off to Anora. But I have no one to pass her off to. My lack of scars, now, does not mean I have sat idle in a ladies’ tea room on plush chairs._

_She doesn’t finish what she began before I look at Pádraig and tell him to flog her. Take her outside, leave her clothes on so she must return to the city all torn and bloodied._

_But Pádraig does not take two steps before a frantic woman bursts through the doors. Pointing behind her, huffing for breath so hard and fast she can’t say Commander as a single word. I step up to inspect, curious such a woman was let into the Keep at all. The guards who let her in do nothing to arrest her._

_One word at a time with heaving gasps between, the ragged woman makes out news that might as well turn back time for me: The darkspawn march on the city._

_Just like the Blight. All fucking over again._

_A hand weighs on my shoulder, but my head is like stone. I can only stare at the gasping messenger in front of me. The rest of her words are no better than the first. An entire army of darkspawn approach the city from the west. She rode as fast as she could without sleep, but they were three days away when she left three days ago._

_The darkspawn are in Amaranthine right now._

_Eyes all over the room fall on me. I can feel every one._

_“We won’t make it in time,” Anders worries. I can almost hear the pinch of his brow._

_“If we don’t stop for camp, we’ll make it before sunrise,” Nathaniel says. He steps into view to catch my eye._

_“A small party could reach the city in time,” Varel agrees._

_We have no choice. This has to be us, right here, right now. Whatever we can pack in an hour. Fastest horses. And if Amaranthine falls… Andraste, I don’t want to think about that._

_My head turns to find Pádraig. “Ride to Alistair, get the rest of the guard and the hounds. Send a regiment behind you.”_

_My husband’s General nods. “Aye.” He turns swift and stiff. “You heard Her Majesty! King’s Resolve, horses, now! Someone throw Esmerelle in prison, she can wait for my return.”_

_I look around at my own men while Pádraig’s run through the hall. Servants scurry with waterskins, others stuff backpacks on their way out the doors. Anders and Nate are already throwing armor on. A belch from the other corridor tells me Oghren is getting his own. Justice stands ready still; always ready._

_But we don’t have time to wait for Justice to catch up on foot, and no horse will carry him._

_“I’ll walk with Justice,” Sigrun volunteers. “If the darkspawn veer off, we’ll catch them. If not, we’ll meet you at the city in two days.”_

_I nod, then heavy breath escapes me. I had not realized I’d held it. “As soon as you’re dressed, mount up,” I tell my cousin and Anders. “Oghren!” I call down the hall as my feet move._

_I wish this didn’t feel so damn much like the Blight._

_Not the Blight, Tess, it’s not the Blight._

_It better not be a fucking Blight._

_“Way ahead of you, Commander.” Oghren marches out with his armor on, securing two flasks to his belt._

_“Pack one for me,” I say. To my own ears, I sound scared._

_It’s not the Darkspawn that worry me. It’s the damned nightmares. Every time I feel like this, the nightmares return for weeks. The Taint only makes nightmares worse._

_“This one's yours, Commander. I still got this little puppy.” Stubby armored fingers pat and clank against his beard._

_His damn beard flask. Now it_ **does** _feel like the Blight._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you

**Author's Note:**

> Please refrain from commenting. 
> 
> This story is for me and me only. I will not change it to suit someone else's ideals for my own OCs/Pairings. Reminder: Don't read it if you don't like it. The choice is yours.


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